


the softest touch is yours [Hankcon Inkytober]

by BriWei



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, Alternate Universe - Reverse, Alternate Universe - Vampire, Angst, Blow Jobs, Body Worship, Canon Universe, Car Sex, Connor (Detroit: Become Human) Has Interchangeable Genitalia, Connor and Nature, Costumes, Customizable Android Genitalia (Detroit: Become Human), First Kiss, Fluff, Guilt, Halloween, Halloween Costumes, Hank Big, Hank1700, Humor, Hurt/Comfort, Inktober, Inkytober, M/M, Major Character Injury, Married Couple, Pet Names, Phobias, Self-Worth Issues, Sickfic, Slice of Life, Trans Connor (Detroit: Become Human), Trauma, also there's a lot of brow waggling I'm sorry, gratuitous amounts of soft, inktober prompts, reverse au, threadfic, ya darn right I'm making that a tag because it's VERY GOOD
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-31
Updated: 2019-10-31
Packaged: 2021-01-08 02:27:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 31
Words: 23,201
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21228263
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BriWei/pseuds/BriWei
Summary: Various twitter threads rounded up for ao3, written and based on a lovely prompt list by inkysparks!Includes a few different aus but mostly canonverse, with only two chapters needing that Explicit warning. I'll put content warnings at the beginning of each chapter if needed, and each chapter title will be the prompt/au for that particular day for easy navigation.Just a bunch of fun little drabbles for Hankcon!





	1. First Kiss

**Author's Note:**

> So [Inky](https://archiveofourown.org/users/inkysparks) is fabulous and came up with a prompt list for inktober over on twitter, providing sooo many different fun ideas for Hank and Connor. :D I honestly didn't think I'd be able to stick with it for the whole month but, heck. Here we are!
> 
> If you'd like to check the prompts out on twitter instead, I created a [moment](https://twitter.com/i/moments/1179771294939779072?s=13) for them! Feel free to join me over there as I am a hopeless hankcon ho' on main with no remorse.

Hank slid further down into the lukewarm bathtub, blowing bubbles childishly with his submerged mouth as he sulked.

Bad enough he’d been forced home for the day, though he supposed it was fair when his eyes kept blurring as he stared at his terminal. 

But no, even worse had been when he’d gotten home and promptly passed out half on, half off the couch because his fever finally got the best of him. Bless Connor for coming by later with his car that Hank had been in no condition to drive and checking on him. He probably would have been fine, but. He wasn’t going to deny it was nice to have someone keeping an eye out for him. And then have them help him into his bathtub (déjà vu, he thought blearily, and laughed to himself) to sit in cool water to help break his fever.

Connor was too good to him, too good in general, even with the scolding he’d given Hank for “allowing himself” to sleep in such a place.

“Y’think I chose the floor?” Hank had huffed, pressing his overheated cheek further into the cool material of Connor’s coat.

“No,” Connor had conceded, as he set Hank down carefully on the edge of the tub after hauling him there. ”That’s mostly my worry talking. I can’t say it’s my favorite thing to find you out cold on the floor. One time is already too many.”

“Hoo-ah,” Hank agreed, tipping backward. 

He didn’t really remember the whole getting into the tub process, and was sure he’d be more embarrassed about it all if he wasn’t struggling through a fog of brain-cotton and heat. But he must have convinced Connor he wouldn’t slip under and drown to have gotten a moment alone. 

A knock on the door interrupted his thoughts—speak of the devil. “May I come in?” Connor called. “I brought some clothes for when you’re done.”

“Door’s open,” Hank joked, waving a hand airily even if Connor couldn’t see it. He was at least feeling better already, thank goodness. 

Connor stepped inside and set the clothes on the sink counter, watching Hank with a critical eye. “You don’t look as flushed, at least,” he said. “Would you mind me checking your temperature to see how high the fever is?”

“Go nuts,” Hank said. “Got a thermometer in the cabinet there.” 

A small grin split Connor’s face as he stepped closer and knelt next to the tub. “That won’t be necessary.”

“Connor I swear to god if you stick a finger in my—"

“While that would be more accurate,” he interrupted, shoulders shaking with laughter, “this will be less invasive.” 

He leaned forward, and Hank didn’t even have a moment to spare for whether he cared about his modesty still or not before Connor was all up in his personal space.

Hank turned a little further to face him more fully. “What’re you—"

Connor gently pressed his lips to Hank’s forehead, held still for a moment and then hummed in thought. “One hundred point two degrees Fahrenheit,” he said, sounding disapproving. “Still too high, but lower than before.” 

And surely now, Hank’s temperature had to have increased even more just from the contact of Connor’s lips to his feverish skin.

“Uh,” he tried to articulate, failing to come up with anything more than “what.” 

Connor tapped his lips cheekily. “You already know CyberLife put plenty of “that oral tech shit” in my mouth, Hank. My lips are able to read temperatures just fine.”

“Huh,” Hank huffed, still feeling heated in the face for various reasons. 

“But uh,” he said, leaning over the edge of the tub toward Connor, “you can take it other ways too? Seems like a weird feature for you.” He gestured to Connor’s hands, which sat placidly in the android’s lap.

“Oh no, not with my hands.” His eyes sparked with a heat of their own. 

Hank swallowed down the gut reaction of near fear at the intensity of that look.

“Are you trying to hint that you want a demonstration?”

Boy, was it getting hot in here, Hank asked himself. He pursed his lips before deciding fuck it, Connor was playing with fire, too. “Maybe.” 

Despite his earlier confidence, Connor seemed hesitant. “You realize that means mouth to mouth.”

“Sounds about right.”

Connor huffed a laugh through his nose, smiling tiredly. “Does you being feverish always make your moods swing so wildly?” he wondered, leaning forward again. 

Hank grinned himself and reached a wet hand to cup the back of Connor’s head, dampening his hair and dripping water down his neck. Connor shivered as drops trailed past the collar of his shirt. His eyes fluttered, and his breath puffed hotly against Hank’s lips. 

“Brings out the best in me, more like,” Hank chuckled. “Besides, this feels long overdue.”

As they pressed together Connor did that quiet hum again, eyes closed now. But he did pull away briefly to whisper, “One hundred point—“

Hank snorted at him before going back for more.


	2. Thirium

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Warnings for this prompt for graphic gunshot injury; no death.

It wasn't a natural blue, and no matter how dolled up CyberLife had made it in it's water bottle or blood bag packaging, Connor would never see it as anything but what sustained him. He supposed the containers were more of a human comfort.

His "blood..." Maybe, but due to it's function he felt a gas can would be a more appropriate container.

Hank would likely chastise him for thinking of himself as too machine-like, but he couldn't deny what he was. Humans didn't need to regularly ingest their own blood to keep functioning.

Maybe that's why even Hank would joke about it more often than not. Or he was just easily amused, Connor honestly couldn't say. He _could_, however, count the number of times Hank had referred to his thirium as "juice" with that adorably gap-toothed smile of his.

He hoped using it as a callback to those better memories now would ease Hank's concern. He would take a watery chuckle at this point. He needed the comfort as much as Hank did.

"Running low on j-ju-juice," Connor tried, feeling his joke's delivery was ruined by his damaged neck.

The majority of the buckshot had struck him in the chest, which wasn't exactly ideal, but some had clipped through his throat and severed a larger tube running up to his head. Now he was left riddled with holes and pouring blue all down his front. Between the damage and the back-up of thirium spurting from his mouth and neck like a waterfall... "running low" was an understatement.

"Fuckin'—" Hank choked, biting his lip while his hands gripped Connor tighter. "Here I am thinkin' about shoving that shotgun up that fucker's ass and returning fire, and you're trying to be funny." The last word Hank had to force out with a heavy breath. He shook his head.

"You're a menace," he added, releasing one hand to brush the hair from Connor's forehead.

"Have t—have to pass time. While waiting for Chris to—" He had to stop a moment to swallow or risk more thirium spilling from his mouth, though it would likely escape through his neck.

"Yeah-yeah I know," Hank said, stopping him so he wouldn't continue.

Talking likely wasn't helping, anyway, but the idea of leaving Hank to sit in silence and watch him slowly leak thirium on his lap was unbearable.

"Thankfully that store was around the corner. We'll..."

Hank took a second to just breathe. Even knowing Connor would more than likely be fine it was obviously a lot for him.

Connor wished he could move without risking more damage, to comfort him. The desire to hold Hank and being unable to hurt more than the damage to his chassis.

"We'll get you fixed up, get some juice—" Ah, there was the smile Connor was going for earlier, wobbly and pained but still there, "to keep you runnin', and then hit the repair place. You'll be fine, sweetheart."

Connor blinked, and then grinned, closing his eyes and softly whispering the word to himself. Sweetheart. That was new.

He liked it. And would be damned if he didn't stick around if only to hear Hank say it again.


	3. Fall

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Warning for this chapter includes a mention/hint at Connor having a fear of falling(/heights)

Hank made a show of wiping his brow as he leaned against his rake, admiring his handiwork. "Y'know, you'd think since I only have the one tree back here I wouldn't have to rake so much," he said, but the twinkle in his eye revealed his mirth.

Connor made a noncommittal noise next to him, idly tapping his fingers against the rake in his own hands. "The wind is a powerful force, and your neighbors have plenty of trees to make up for yours."

"Sad but true." Hank sighed, patting his hip to call Sumo to his side.

He stooped over and set the rake in the grass, still the slightest bit green in random patches of the yard but otherwise browned and crisp. It crunched under Connor's shoes as he followed suit, watching Hank stay down to rub behind Sumo's ears as the large dog panted in his face.

"Would you like me to grab a bag so it can be collected later?" Connor asked, already turning a bit toward the house.

Hank waved him off, and stood with only a small groan as he braced his back with his hands. "Nah... not quite yet. Got somethin' else in mind, first."

The leaf pile was rather size-able considering, and even Connor was surprised that so many had made their way into Hank's small yard. It came up to his hip, nearly, and was wide enough that Hank and Sumo standing next to it just barely spanned its diameter.

He spotted the occasional aspen leaf in a sea of maple, ranging from soft and sunny yellows to snappy reds. Very few of them seemed to have been damaged by insects, and the sharp points of them almost made Connor think of a bed of brightly colored spikes.

Not the best image to have in mind as, suddenly, Hank did an about face and promptly fell backwards into the pile. He took over one half of it with his large frame, and the sheer number of leaves cushioned his fall while many jumped upward from the force and impact.

Hank laughed, arms outstretched and eyes closed in sheer delight as he allowed himself a moment of innocent enjoyment. "God, I haven't done that in years. Feel like a damn kid again."

Sumo shuffled up next to his head and sniffed before licking a stripe up his face. Hank sputtered and squawked loudly, flailing his arms as he scolded the dog half-heartedly.

Connor felt something loosen in himself to see Hank this way, at ease and enjoying himself so freely.

It was his first autumn with Hank, or at least the beginning and middle of it—he'd had no idea what to expect from the man as the days cooled and neared unpleasant memories.

He was pleased to see that while Hank still had his melancholy days, he was able to find joy, too.

And Connor would never deny Hank a moment of respite when he could get it.

"Hey," Hank called, pulling Connor from his thoughts and blatant staring. Hank curled his fingers at him with a held out hand. "S'pretty cool out, wanna come down here and join me?"

Connor grinned and shook his head in amusement, stepping closer and getting ready to kneel down and crawl in with Hank. Burrowing down together in leaves was never something he'd imagined doing, but the idea sounded more and more appealing.

Hank held up a hand to halt him.

"Not so fast there, you gotta have the full experience!"

"Full experience?" Connor tilted his head. "Is that not what I'm doing by joining you?"

"Fall back!" Hank waved his arms again, and then moved the one hovering over the other half of the pile to rest on his chest.

"You saw what I did, c'mon. It's tradition." Hank waggled his eyebrows and smiled again. "More fun that way, too."

From Hank's other side, Sumo huffed and wagged his tail, as if to egg Connor on.

Mouth quirked to the side, Connor stood again and faced away, peeking over his shoulder to make sure he wouldn't land on Hank.

He must have stood a moment too long, because from behind him Hank said, "I can count you down if you want."

"No, it's fine."

Steeling himself, Connor went ramrod straight before allowing his body to tip backward.

Really, he knew it was mere seconds before the soft leaves would catch him. And that the distance was small, insignificant really.

It didn't stop the moment from feeling far too long. Or from pulling him back to last August, quick and heavy as the gravity taking him down to the earth now, then. His breathing stopped altogether, and the wind in his ears was impossibly deafening and biting as he fell, fell—

And then, soft impact, a softer _foomf_ as he mashed down the leaves beneath him and some scattered. A warm arm curled around him quickly and tugged him to Hank's side—when had he snuck his arm back down?

He turned with the movement and pressed himself close. He breathed again.

Hank's neck was warm against his nose and lips. Pulse steady and throat bobbing as he stifled soft laughs. Next to him. Safe on the ground and alive.

"There you are," Hank rumbled, and Connor didn't feel cold but he shuddered all the same. "Thanks for joining me."

Connor reached up with his hand not currently trapped under his side, gripping the lapel of Hank's coat. Even through the layers he could feel his heart beating.

Connor sighed, nuzzling closer to Hank's neck and his comfort. "There's no where else I'd rather be."


	4. Sumo

Hank knew Connor was on his way home, but Sumo was ready to alert him of the other’s arrival regardless. He’d been a pitiful mess since Connor had left. Hank would be hurt that he’d been bumped to second place if he didn’t feel damn near the same. 

He heard the distant sound of a car door before the dog stood abruptly, aimed at the door, quiet sans panting so heavily it was a wonder the house didn’t collapse.

Hank stood as the door opened, and the sound of claws tick-tacking on the floor echoed as Sumo made his way over. 

“Hey handsome,” Connor cooed, bending down to thoroughly pet the big lug while he whined and danced around Connor before tackling him back against the door. Connor laughed, eyes bright and relaxed, happy to be home. “I missed you too!” 

“You’re gone for a week and Sumo is the one who gets all your attention when you get back,” Hank lamented, holding his wrist to his forehead in mock distress. “I see where I rate.”

“He didn’t give me much of a choice!” Sumo barked happily, butting his head into Connor’s chest. “Besides, Sumo has more attachment issues than you,” Connor said, smirking up at Hank from the floor.

“Oh, I have attachment issues,” Hank replied, kneeling down and linking his arms around Connor’s neck and shoulders. 

Sumo squirmed, lightly squished between Hank’s bulk and Connor’s knees, but he didn’t seem to be too put out by the situation. “My issue was not being attached to you.”

“Ha ha,” Connor mumbled into Hank’s shirt, but he returned the embrace and sighed. Hank could feel the warmth of his breath through his shirt. “I missed you,” he said quietly.

Hank’s grip tightened the slightest bit, and he was about to tease Connor that it had only been a week when he continued, “but I missed Sumo more.” 

Hank loudly gasped, pulling back and holding Connor by the shoulders to stare at him wide-eyed. He could feel a smile fighting its way to his face, sure to match the one on Connor’s, but he fought it off. “How DARE you—"

Connor surged forward with his hands raised, reaching for Hank’s cheeks to hold him in place while he kissed him. Hank’s mouth had still been partly open from his faux tirade, so really it was no work at all for Connor to deepen it. Hank had no protests. 

Connor’s hands were cool from the chilled air outside, but familiar, welcome. God he’d missed him. Even if it HAD only been a week.

Connor pulled back, bumping his nose to Hank’s as his tongue poked out of his mouth playfully. “Hey, handsome.” 

Hank sputtered, blushed, then carefully knocked their foreheads together. “Don’t give me pity compliments, I know Sumo is the one that has your heart.”

“Maybe.” Connor pulled back just enough to bury his face in Sumo’s fur, who was perfectly content to be cuddled between them. His hands shifted, trailing along Hank’s arms in an intimate caress before finding his hands and linking their fingers together. “But you have all the rest of me. And he can share.” 

Hank smiled, heart feeling stupidly full and warm, and he felt the need to hide his joy before it burst from his chest and mouth in endless sentences of how much he loved Connor. 

So he in turn hid his face in Connor’s hair, breathing in his clean scent and relishing in the fact that he was back. _God he’d missed him._

“Remind me to tell Jeff he can kiss my ass the next time they want to send you to Ann Arbor to consult,” he said, rubbing his cheek into the soft strands. “My attachment issues are greedy enough to rival Sumo’s.”


	5. Cozy

Connor detached the leash from Sumo’s collar, getting in one quick ruffle to his ears before the dog burst away. There were things to sniff and dogs to play with, he didn’t have time (or patience, if Connor was being honest) to sit for pets. 

From next to and slightly behind him, Hank snorted. “Give ‘em an inch...”

“It’s been awhile since we took him to the park,” Connor said, turning slightly to flash Hank a smile. “All work and no play, and all that. He has to make up for all those missed trips.” 

“Cheers to that.” Hank sniffed, rubbing his shoulder idly as he watched after their silly dog. “We needed the day out too, I think. Been working too hard.” He shuddered. “Shame it had to be so cold and windy the day of, though.” 

Connor pursed his lips, still looking at Hank over his shoulder. “I can increase the temperature of my hands for you, if you want.”

Hank’s eyes darted back to him, fond and warm despite the cold. It made Connor’s fingers twitch in want: to hold, to warm, anything and everything. 

“Connor,” he said slowly, grinning and poking his tongue just the slightest bit into the gap in his teeth, “are you asking to hold my hand?”

Connor shrugged, playing nonchalant despite his eagerness. “It would solve both of our problems.” 

“Oh?” Hank sidled closer to Connor, nudging him with his elbow. “And what problem are you having?”

“Too much distance between us.” 

Hank laughed, loud and full, leaning back slightly so his gut pressed forward. Connor didn’t even bother hiding the fact he was watching. “Hell of a problem to have! But holding hands isn’t gonna close THAT much distance.” 

Connor tried to hide his disappointment.

“I have another suggestion, actually,” Hank continued.

“What’s—" Before he could finish, Hank had moved closer still, completely behind him and pressed up against Connor’s back. His belly fit snugly against his lower back, his cold nose poking lightly at the skin behind his ear.

And his hands, of course, seeking warmth and something solid, dove into the pockets of Connor’s coat. 

Thankfully they were deep, because Hank went as far as he could and flattened his palms so they pressed to Connor’s thighs.

Hank groaned into the nape of Connor’s neck, pressing a kiss to the short hair there. “God you’re warm, s’not fair.” 

Connor had to shift his focus back to Sumo again, watching as he happily snuffled at a hole in the ground. He released a shuddery breath—Hank always did make it difficult to turn his attentions elsewhere—but decided to indulge himself anyway. He reached his hands up and into his own pockets, slotting his and Hank’s fingers together. He sighed, and rested his head back against Hank’s shoulder as he let the heat of his chassis increase the slightest bit to warm Hank’s hands further. 

Hank huffed a laugh next to his ear. “Got your way in the end anyway, huh?”

Deciding that he didn’t need to respond, Connor simply hummed while his fingers spun the smooth band of the ring round Hank’s finger. His smile grew as easily as they fit together.


	6. Hands

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Warnings for this chapter include Hank being a dumb millennial but it amuses me so here we are.
> 
> Who's projecting, stop pointing fingers at me

The cold air that sucked into his lungs stung, but the heat and bite of the cigarette between his lips helped to chase away some of the chill. It’d been a while since he’d last smoked, and lately he couldn’t say that he’d missed it. 

He probably wouldn’t have had this one if it weren’t for cleaning out the glove box of his car.

“What was I gonna do, waste it?” had been his planned answer if Connor happened to come out and catch him with it, but so far he’d been left to his solitude out on the small front porch. 

It wasn’t long after he stubbed it out that Connor did join him. He planted himself behind Hank, swinging his legs to rest along either side of his, chest pressed to Hank’s broad back.

Connor rubbed his cheek into the fabric of his sweater. “Found the pack in your car I take it.” 

“Nothing gets by you, babe,” Hank chuckled, patting Connor’s knee. He could feel the warmth and subtle, content vibration from Connor’s chest seeping into his back. It reminded him of a gentle massage chair, and he had to stop himself from laughing aloud at the thought. 

“So what’s on the agenda today before work?” he asked instead.

“Well...” Connor’s hands slowly inched across his front, starting low on Hank’s hips and making their way up. “It feels like a good day to shower attention on you.” 

“You do that every day, Con,” Hank said, feeling a little warm in the face as Connor’s hands reached his chest. “You’re pretty tactile and handsy.”

“Can’t help it,” he mumbled into his back, and his hands certainly spoke plenty loud for him if he didn’t feel like projecting. 

“It’s very difficult to control myself around you. So big and wonderful.” The gentle vibration in his chest kicked up a hair. “I need to make sure to spend as much time on all of you as I can. It’s only fair.” 

“Big is right,” Hank grumbled, and he felt Connor lift his head and grip his chest a little more, as if protecting Hank’s bulk. And surely to challenge him for the self deprecation, but he went on, “I mean, just look at these honkin’ tonkers.” 

The purr from Connor’s chest abruptly stopped. His hold slackened the slightest bit before tightening again, and Hank had to bite his lip to stop from either laughing or slightly panicking at his reaction. 

Finally, a quiet “what” whispered against his neck. The blatant confusion in the small word had Hank swinging toward the “stifling laughter” side of things.

“You know,” he said, taking a deep breath to steady himself, “my maaaassive bahonkadonkeroos.” 

Now Connor’s hands dropped, falling to sit limply on Hank’s hips again. Unable to help himself, Hank turned a bit so he could see Connor’s face.

It was pinched in a small frown, and he’d been staring blankly at the back of Hank’s head but now met his eyes. 

His LED was spinning furiously in yellow, and Hank could only imagine what kind of search results Connor was pulling. Or, not pulling—god knows gibberish doesn’t yield much, and the fact that he was floundering with nothing to reference made it even funnier. 

Hank snickered. “C’mon Connor, you go after them so much, you should know! My perky babbalongas? These hugungous tidididies? Voluptuous ungabunga—"

Connor’s hand shot out and firmly covered Hank’s mouth, eyes darting back and forth between his while his LED continued to merry-go-round on his temple. Hank finally gave in and laughed against Connor’s hand, the air escaping around the edges. 

“Too much?” It came out muffled and basically nonsense nearly enough to rival the crap he’d been spewing a second ago. But Connor seemed to understand him anyway.

“You never fail to both confound me and make me love you more,” he said, and Hank’s eyes crinkled in a smile. 

Connor matched it. “But I have absolutely no idea what you’re referencing.”

Hank waggled his brows before licking along Connor’s palm. His eyes fluttered as a shaky breath left him in a gust; taking advantage of the sensitivity in Connor’s hands was a favorite of Hank’s. 

“You’re a menace,” Connor said adoringly. He shifted his hand to Hank’s cheek and pulled him closer.

“Takes one to know one—it’s only fair,” Hank echoed, and Connor swallowed his laughter with an eager kiss.


	7. Breakfast (Biting)

“I feel like I woke up in a Denny’s,” Hank said, rubbing the sleep from his eyes as if that would make what he was seeing vanish. Nope, still there. “Actually, I HAVE done that before...” 

Connor rolled his eyes and set the pile of jack-o-lantern shaped pancakes on the table, next to the plate he’d already done up of one with chocolate chips for the eyes, nose and mouth. And was that fuckin’ dyed green whipped cream to make a leaf and vine? “AM I in a Denny’s??”

“Hank.” He sounded exasperated, but Hank knew that purse to his lips. Connor was doing his damnedest not to smile. “Shut up and eat your breakfast.”

“Going all out for your first Halloween, huh?” Hank laughed as he took his seat, leaning up for the kiss Connor planted on him. He blinked. “Did you eat some of this? You taste like syrup!”

Connor shrugged, taking a seat next to Hank with a mug filled with blue. “I had to make sure it turned out okay, since it’s from scratch.” He grinned. “Black cinnamon syrup and pumpkin pancakes.” 

“Well I’ll be damned.” As Hank tucked in Connor scooted his chair even closer, pressing himself to Hank’s side. He rested his chin on Hank’s shoulder, and Hank didn’t bother to resist leaning over slightly to nuzzle his cheek with his own whiskery one. 

Connor practically purred in his ear.

“Almost seems like you have some kind of ulterior motive here, Con,” Hank teased, spearing a pancake off of the stack and plopping it on his now empty plate.

“Hmm. Does it? Am I so transparent?” He turned to place a kiss on his neck. 

And if Hank felt a suggestion of teeth along with the bit of suction that followed, well. He wasn’t gonna give in that easy.

Or, that’s what he told himself, until Connor nosed aside his hair and gently bit the lobe of his ear. 

“I thought—" Hank huffed in order to fight back the groan building in his chest. “I thought I was supposed to be eating here. You’re not making it any easier.”

Connor laughed lightly at the admission, licking up the shell and then biting there, too. 

Hank hadn’t put his piercings in yet for the day—and sincerely wished he had.

“You ARE,” Connor said, breath hot in his ear. He toyed with the small openings there as if reading Hank’s mind. This brat. “I’m just enjoying mine.”


	8. Sweaters

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter gets a bit suggestive because Connor is ridiculous, but otherwise is just more of the same from me: lots of cuddling, gasp! I'm sorry but also not.
> 
> Also the ever amazing Vitto drew [this super cute art](https://twitter.com/peachy_dyke/status/1181723825181995009) based on this prompt and I'm still dying about it. ;3;

"You're not going to turn into one of those people that goes on online shopping sprees, are you?" Hank teased, sipping his pop as he watched Connor carry his parcel in the door. 

He gave him a withering look in return. "Of course not," he scoffed, sitting next to Hank on the couch and beginning the process of tearing into the crinkled packaging. "It was our turn in the rotation to order clothing from work, so I decided to get a few things." 

Hank "ah'ed" quietly, and distinctly remembered himself deleting that email. He hadn't had a turn on the rotation for a few years, and the DPD hoodie he'd gotten the last time was still in decent shape. And frequently filched by Connor.

Suppose it was only fair he get his own. 

"So what did you all pick out? Last time I remember there were some nice... uh, athletic jackets in there?" Hank racked his brain trying to remember what had been in the catalog last time. It'd been a while.

"There were this time, too." And Connor pulled one out to show him. It was a cool navy blue with the DPD logo on the left breast, and when Connor turned it there was the same but larger on the back. "I also got some button ups, a polo, and..." Here he paused to dig into the box for what he was specifically looking for. 

Hank chuckled at the soft "ah-ha" from Connor as he pulled out a folded sweatshirt that looked very much like the one he had. Just... less faded and worn through.

"Liked that one, did ya?"

Connor hummed and shook out the hoodie, and then froze a moment as his LED spun yellow. 

"Shoot," he muttered.

"What's up?" But as Hank asked he could clearly see what was wrong.

The hoodie in Connor's hands looked like it was made for four Connors to fit into (probably an exaggeration on his part, but this thing looked MASSIVE). Connor peeked at the tag. "They sent the wrong size," he lamented, folding the giant thing up with a sigh.

"They can always swap 'em for ya, no biggie," Hank said, patting him on the shoulder. "'Sides, mine is pretty baggy on you; maybe you'll like the extra room for lounging." 

Connor pursed his lips and tapped his fingers together. Then he stood so suddenly Hank almost dropped his drink. "I'll go try it on."

And then he wandered away to... the bedroom maybe? It was a hoodie, Hank thought to himself. He coulda just pulled it on right there. 

He shrugged to himself and finished the can of pop in his hand, and called down the hall as he took it to the kitchen. "Let me know how it fits!"

It seemed to take way longer than necessary to try on a sweater, but Hank plopped himself back on the couch and waited. 

He was seated sideways with an arm slung over the back so he could see when Connor came down the hall, and then there he was.

It was definitely too huge on him, and Hank had to cover his mouth with a hand to smother a laugh. It came down to Connor's knees and engulfed his hands. The collar dipped down despite Connor's attempts to keep it up, and that made Hank notice the fact that he must not have a shirt on underneath... and hey, no pants. The sight had caught him so off guard he didn't notice at first.

Slow on the draw, Anderson, he chided himself. 

"So what's the verdict?" Hank asked on a chortle.

Connor shrugged, lifting his drowning-in-fabric arms to really sell it. "I think I need a second opinion," he said, motioning with a sleeve for Hank to step over. 

He did, and didn't bother to hide his grin. He was absolutely reaching up under that hoodie and snapping the waistband of Connor's boxers, the cheeky little shit.

"I think I need to examine from the bottom up," he said, stroking his beard thoughtfully as he knelt down. 

"Perfect," Connor snorted, clearly onto Hank's antics but with no want to stop him. But before Hank could even reach forward, Connor had his hands in his hair, giving it a vigorous ruffle.

"Con, what the hell?!" Hank sputtered, before it was suddenly dark and warm in the room. 

Connor laughed, and Hank could not only hear it but FEEL it against his cheek.

The thrum of Connor's body wasn't loud by any means, but pressed against it underneath the sweater suddenly pulled over his head, it sounded like a soothing echo. 

He felt a gentle tap to his head through the fabric. "Can you stand in there?" Connor asked, and then light peeked in from the top as Connor pulled the collar away from his clavicle. Hank looked up, and Connor smiled down at him.

Hank grumbled good-naturedly against his thirium pump regulator, giving it a peck before carefully stretching himself back up and toward the opening in the hoodie.

He took an exaggerated gulp of air as he surfaced, and Connor laughed again. 

"You're lucky we're about the same height, or this would be awkward," Hank snorted, but he smiled and dropped a kiss on Connor's brow.

Connor hummed, pleased with himself and obvious about it. He wrapped his arms around Hank's waist and ducked his head under his chin. "Might as well take advantage of the mistake," he said happily.

The corner of Hank's mouth quirked up, and it wasn't just the sweater and Connor pressed against him that had him feeling warm. He sighed through his nose and moved his hands to Connor's hips to return the hug. Not to mention make good on his self-made promise of snapping his shorts.

Or, he would have, if there were any shorts there.

"Oh," he said quietly, and his hands roamed a little on the bared skin of Connor's hips, the backs of his thighs. Well how about that. 

"Mm." Connor pressed closer, slotting Hank's thigh between his. He kissed the side of Hank's neck. "Think you can carry me to our room like this? Or I could carry you..."

Hank had a grip on the underside of his ass before he finished, and Connor's yelp was music to his ears.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Seriously, art!](https://twitter.com/peachy_dyke/status/1181723825181995009) Cute!! Please go and support Vitto! ;3;


	9. Stars

Based on all the evidence Connor had collected and after some deliberation, he supposed he could be considered a romantic.

Having a second opinion wouldn't hurt, but as far as he could tell it seemed accurate, and pretty obvious. 

It had gone on since that morning he'd met Hank after the revolution, the sun bright but Hank standing tall and alive and even brighter. He'd taken to likening the man to many things, literal and not-so. At this point it was almost a daily checklist he was happy to add to. 

"What is Hank?"

Hank was many things. Brave, strong, kind. Capable of change. Complex. A pillar, worn and cracked from time and disaster but still standing strong in spite of it all. 

Today, paused in the entry of Hank's kitchen mid-stride to watch as Hank stood in his open front doorway, stretching in the morning sun, Connor decided that Hank was a star. 

And as Hank turned to face him—hair like starlight, eyes glittering, sudden smile like a comet crossing the sky—Connor felt blinded, overwhelmed, and incredibly lucky to be where he was. 

Hank must have caught something of it in his expression. He quirked his head, smile tipping toward a smirk. "What's got you spinning this morning?" he asked, voice slightly raspy from sleep. 

Connor sighed dreamily and gravitated to him, settling against Hank's side and pulling his sun-warmed body close.

"Just you," he said. Content to orbit him as long as he was allowed.


	10. Coffee (Human AU)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Because there's always one office au right right

Hank decided that whatever jackass made it so that the new guy was designated the office bitch should be strung up by their stupidly huge belt buckle in front of the whole staff.

He DEFINITELY wasn't targeting that little shit Gavin. 

"Hey old timer," he'd said, walking up behind Hank and smacking him on the shoulder harder than necessary. "Since you're new, that means you're up for a coffee run." He'd waved a torn off sheet from one of their company-branded memo pads. "Here's the order, it's a block over." 

Gavin could kiss his ass, but he wasn't about to sour things on his first day. Even though that little bastard already had—

Hank took a deep breath and rolled his eyes to the ceiling of the coffee shop, looking back down and hurrying over when his name was called. Not worth it. 

This was just supposed to be a chill part-time thing for extra money. Certainly not worth getting hot under the collar for.

He made it back quick enough even with juggling way too many drinks and bags for one person, and passed things out best he could. Thank god for nameplates. 

Last on his list was the "Supr" who had his own office at the end of their line of desks. He hadn't met the guy yet, which seemed odd considering he was the supervisor, but figured this would be his opportunity for an intro.

He knocked and heard a muffled "come in" in answer. 

He poked his head through the gap and held aloft the remaining pastry bag and cup of coffee. "Just delivering this, sir," he said, not sure how to address the man.

"Oh, perfect, come on in," he said, facing his monitor and not looking Hank's way. 

Hank decided he must be busy and made to drop the goods and run, but before he could his supervisor seemed to read his mind. "Have a seat, I'm just finishing this quick."

Hank bit back a sigh and did as instructed. 

He killed time by snooping at the man's desk. Pretty neat and orderly, not many personal effects other than one picture frame he couldn't see from this angle and one of those ridiculous bobbing-head animal things. This one was a dog—looked like a German Shepherd. Otherwise it was carefully placed folders and stacks of paper, a memo pad and pen-holder, and his name plate. C. Stern. Knew the guy's name now, at least.

When that only distracted him for a few seconds, he very easily got caught up in staring at Stern himself. 

He was just as put-together as his desk, crisp in his ironed shirt and slicked-back hair, posture straight and hands in the "recommended" position for typing (Hank was a hunt and pecker through and through). Also much like his desk, only two things stood out as being personal touches about him: a wayward curl of hair falling over his forehead, and a ridiculously bright tie with cartoon bones and paw prints scattered on it, with a larger dog head at the bottom. "Woof!" it exclaimed. 

Hank had to smother a chuckle at the sight of it.

The sun coming in the window threw him in shadow but not enough to hide the random assortment of moles and freckles across his pale skin. From this angle Hank could spy one peeking around on the back of his neck like a taunt. 

Hank pursed his lips, and turned to the ceiling yet again today. So much for not getting hot under the collar for dumb shit.

"Sorry about that," Stern said, sounding sincere as he finally turned away from his computer and made eye contact. 

"S'fine, Mr. Stern," Hank said, "What did you need me for?"

"Well," Stern laughed, steepling his fingers together, "I know we haven't actually met yet, but I knew you were starting today and figured you'd be the designated coffee gremlin because of it." 

And he winked.

Hank coughed a little louder than intended, holding out his hand to shake, which Stern took. His hand was cool, soft, but his grip solid. "Hank Anderson."

"Connor Stern," he replied with a warm smile. "Nice to meet you, Hank. Welcome to the team." 

"Thanks." They pulled apart and Stern immediately went for his coffee, just holding it between his hands, likely to warm them. "Yeah, I was a bit surprised when you weren't in the interview process, considering." 

Stern smirked wearily. "They tend to hire people and just place them wherever here without letting the supervisors know. So I apologize for not introducing myself properly." He took a sip of his drink, and the near moan he let out almost had Hank bolting out of his seat. 

"Thank you for this, by the way," he enthused, sighing and holding it close atop his desk again. "It got colder than expected today; I was freezing."

"Uh, no problem," Hank said, waving him off and also thinking he'd be happy to be the coffee bitch from now on.


	11. Biocomponents (Cockwarming), Explicit

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eyyy, here's an explicit chapter, folks. Smut is not at all my strong suit and it probably shows, but I went for it anyway!
> 
> Warnings include interchangeable/removable genitalia, and while no specific words are used (I use the word opening) the implication is that Connor is trans here.

"Hank?" Connor called, standing from his place knelt next to the dresser in the bedroom. Unable to find what he was looking for, and really Hank HAD been the one to use it last, Connor left the room in search of his husband. 

He never did actually answer Connor, but he can't have gone far. It was nearly time for them to crawl into bed, and while Connor hadn't exactly had any solid plans for pre-sleep his mind had... provided options. Which were difficult to carry out if he didn't have— 

"Hank, have you seen my—" he cut himself off as he spotted Hank seated at the table, scrolling through a tablet idly with a mug next to him. Connor frowned. It was a little late for coffee, but he supposed that just meant he had his work cut out for him to wear Hank out tonight. 

Hank set down the tablet and moved to his mug, his free hand settled unseen in his lap. Taking a lazy sip of his drink, Hank met his eyes over the rim. They sparkled in the light of the kitchen, mischievous and instantly putting Connor on guard.

"Seen your what, sweetheart?" he asked innocently, setting the mug down as he scooted his seat back from the table. In the process his lap became visible, and Connor swallowed hard.

Hank was already dressed for bed in a threadbare t-shirt and loose fitting shorts for comfort. Connor could easily see that his shorts were slightly pulled down at the waist. Which was fine and not at all the unusual thing about this as Connor's eyes zeroed in on his missing genital component, sitting slightly elevated and lengthwise on Hank's thigh, almost as if— 

He moaned at the sight, one of his hands gripping the material of his own sleep pants. "Hank."

Hank smiled cheekily, tapping the fingers of his free hand on the table while the other, previously hidden from view, could be seen gently gripping the outer shell of the component. 

There was a small button on the blank space of the base that faced Connor, hidden inside a small depression of the plastic in order to prevent accidental presses, but big enough to fit the smallest of Hank's fingers. It was for testing functionality when not physically connected to an android, a manual on-switch.

And Hank's finger was resting right next to it.

"It's been keeping my cock nice and snug while you were busy tonight," Hank said, tone still unaffected and playful. 

Connor twitched, wanting to move closer but also frozen in place.

"But..." Hank rubbed his chin thoughtfully, his grin full-blown sinister and heated, "seems only fair that you get to enjoy it too, right?"

Connor could do little to brace himself as Hank pressed the button. 

The sudden feeling of fullness without any prior prep or feeling was overwhelming. His LED glared red and then stuttered between that and yellow as he choked, knees buckling and sending him to the floor. His hands held him up so that his unbroken stare with Hank could continue. 

But his mouth was gaped open in an endless and silent shout. He pressed his thighs together, hips jerking to get closer but unable to do _any_ of it because he wasn't _attached_.

He whined, both cursing and praising Hank mentally for this cruel idea. 

Connor felt a pulse, a shift as Hank moved, and he blindly groped for his own crotch. Desperately wanting to press fingers to his stuffed opening but meeting only blank space.

Hank groaned, Connor watching him twitch—he may not be able to do much, but he could still clench. 

"Hank..." Connor called to him again, nails scratching uselessly on the tile of the floor.

"Oh Con, if you could see yourself," Hank laughed around a content sigh, and shifted again. They both moaned.

"Imagine how you'll look when I start to move."


	12. Candy (Spanking, sort of)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I say sort of spanking because really it's a love pat, but that was also the kink prompt for the day, so I tried to slip it in in some fashion.

Hank could hear the crinkle of plastic from the kitchen, but didn’t think much of it as he flipped through channels. Connor getting up to something in there wasn’t too strange for him, considering. Or just in general—he was a sly lil thing. 

Connor made his way back out to the living room, silent as he parked himself next to Hank on the couch. It was quiet between them for a while, and that suited them. Companionable silence was a comfort Hank enjoyed and hadn’t had much of in the last few years. He’d missed it. 

It wasn’t long though before Hank was leaning over and against Connor, pressing soft kisses along the side of his neck. Connor’s shoulders shook in a quiet laugh, and he nuzzled into the crown of his hair before turning. He lifted himself from the couch and slung a leg over Hank’s lap, straddling him.

“That didn’t take much convincing,” Hank teased, and Connor winked. He grasped Hank’s wrists, bringing his hands to his hips before moving to grip Hank’s shoulders. 

Hank moved in for the natural next step, and Connor met him halfway, pressing his lips to his sweetly with an even sweeter smile. His hands shifted up to Hank’s neck and jaw, running his fingers through his beard. 

Hank blinked, pausing as he licked into Connor’s mouth. Connor wasn’t having any of it though, holding him in place and continuing the kiss, but Hank saw the sparkle in his eyes even from this close.

Connor was full of sweet surprises. 

When they finally broke apart, Connor grinned at him, clearly pleased with himself. Hank laughed, careful not to accidentally swallow the sugary prize in his mouth. 

“Can’t say I’ve played tonsil hockey with more of an actual puck involved before,” Hank said, clicking his teeth against the hard candy now in his mouth. He moved it between his lips and poked it out slightly, going a bit cross eyed to see what it was. A blue raspberry jolly rancher. 

He sucked it back between his lips, and Connor sucked in a breath. Hank waggled his eyebrows. “Idea get away from you a bit?”

Connor blinked, shaking his head slowly. “No, just admiring the sight of something small in your mouth that isn’t me.” 

Hank snorted so hard he almost choked, swatting Connor on the ass for his trouble. Connor laughed as Hank moved both hands to grip him by his rear instead, pulling him back in. They still had to finish off this candy, after all.


	13. Cats

Hank had been fortunate enough as a kid and into his adult life to be healthy. Other than the rare broken bones or sprains, he rarely got sick and never had to work very hard to maintain his health other than the usual common things. 

It wasn’t until his mom came in from the back garden with a small, waterlogged kitten when he was six that he discovered he had one unfortunate allergy. Which was a shame—Kiki the kitty was an adorable little gray tabby. 

Sadly his nose didn’t get the memo, and decided explosive sneezing was his reward for cuddling with him on the couch. He’d been relocated to a new home quickly. Hank definitely cried. It took him all of two seconds to get attached to him and he was still bitter about his allergy. 

Which was all to say that he was fast to notice something had changed when, upon coming home from work one day and hugging Connor hello, he soon fell victim to a bout of sneezes so thunderous the house seemed to shake.

Connor blinked wide eyes at him. “Are you alright?” 

Hank tilted his head backward and pressed his tongue to the roof of his mouth. “Yeah,” he said tightly, fighting another sneeze. “Just. Wow. Haven’t had ‘em that bad since I was a kid.”

“Sneezing?” Connor asked, puzzled.

“Yeah. Once when I was real little, and then other times when...” 

He paused. Somehow he’d managed to avoid most “hairy” situations over his many years, so it sometimes slipped his mind that he had an allergy at all. But when it came back with a vengeance it hit HARD.

He eyed Connor curiously. “You didn’t bring a cat home, did you?” 

Looking a tad embarrassed, Connor shrugged helplessly. “When Sumo and I were out for a walk, we found...” He gestured vaguely to the kitchen.

Hank followed him in and, sure enough, Sumo was lying on his side, panting away while a tiny black kitten made itself comfy in his thick fur. 

“I’d been holding her until a bit ago, and she liked perching on my shoulders, so I’m sure I have her fur all over me,” he said. “I’m sorry Hank, I didn’t know.”

“You’re fine, Con,” Hank laughed, leaning for a brief peck to Connor’s cheek. “I’m just sorry for this damn allergy.” 

“It’s not like you chose it,” Connor sighed, jutting out a hip as he rested his cheek on one fist. “It’s a shame Sumo and Trixie bonded so quickly...”

And I’m sure you didn’t at all, Hank thought with a chuckle. “Trixie? She has a name already?” 

Connor ducked his head, not meeting Hank’s eyes as the man bent to find Connor’s. “Well. I wasn’t going to just refer to her as “her” or “the kitten” all day.”

Hank desperately wanted to hug Connor again, but wasn’t about to risk the pain from another round of sneezing. 

Connor suddenly stood straighter, a soft “oh” escaping him. “I’ll need to vacuum the living room and sweep in here—her fur is everywhere.”

“Attacked in my own home!” Hank cried, laughing at Connor’s scandalized expression. “I’m _kidding_. But we need to find Trixie a new place.” 

“I know. I’d already planned to ask at work tomorrow on the chance you said we couldn’t keep her.” Before Hank could ask Connor continued, “She’s not chipped, and Sumo and I checked the area to see if there were missing posters or a mother cat nearby.” 

“Poor thing,” Hank cooed, kneeling as close to Sumo as he dared. He smiled fondly when Sumo turned his head to him, tongue lolling happily. “Big baby just wanted a smaller baby I see.”

Connor knelt next to him. “He’s been very good with her,” he said proudly. 

Hank hummed, patting the dog on the head. “Well... a kitten is out, but maybe we could see about adopting another dog. Smaller one. Could keep Sumo company during the day if nothing else.”

Connor’s eyes shone as bright as his smile at the idea. “Really?” 

“Sure. Might help wear you out with somethin’ your own age chasing you around instead of us old dogs,” Hank teased, and Connor smacked him playfully.

“She is a cutie though,” he added, pointing to the purring kitten. Sumo nosed at her head gently. 

Connor murmured an agreement, taking a careful finger to run slowly down the curve of her back. Trixie mewed and stretched before curling up again.

“She could be the office cat,” he mused.

Hank scoffed. “Nice try. Maybe when I retire and if you lint roll to hell and back.”


	14. Fire

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Warnings for this chapter include a burning building, android burn wounds

Despite his prior opinions on the matter, Hank had never seen an android actually on fire. 

Before the revolution, he’d not been involved with android crimes (“property damage”), so most of what he had heard was secondhand accounts. 

His anger and bitterness had fueled more drunken rants and hateful glances than anything. But he’d be lying if he said that he didn’t entertain the thought more than once. Had even threatened Connor with it. 

He had no clue why Connor would forgive him half the things he did and said to him before. Why he decided it was Hank he was going to stand by. But Connor was smart... surely he knew what he was doing. (Or was too kind for his own good.) 

It just meant he’d do anything in his power to right what he’d done, best he could anyway. To give Connor better than that. He deserved to have his life and to LIVE it. 

It was just one of the many reasons he needed three people to hold him back from rushing back inside a burning building while his partner was still inside. 

He shouted himself hoarse, kicking and screaming and finally pleading for them to just let him go, let him help let him do _something_, but between Chris and two firefighters yanking him backwards there was little he could do. 

Fucking idiot, Hank thought, to Connor and to himself, even if he didn’t really mean it as far as Connor was concerned. He’d just gone back in to finish doing his job, it’s not like he knew that their perp had rigged the place to blow to destroy any evidence left. 

It felt like an eternity watching water rain down while standing uselessly to the side, looking for any sign of something moving in there. There was nothing but the building crumbling down, showering sparks with creaks and groans of collapsing wood and the roar of flames. 

Finally, finally, the spray from the hoses seemed to temper down the flames near the front, and through the nearly-destroyed doorway carrying a body over each shoulder was Connor. 

Paramedics swept them up before Hank could even get his bearings, and he watched as an officer and a gal from forensics that Connor had hauled out along with himself were plucked from his arms, and he was led to be checked out as well. 

Hank was vaguely aware of someone gently shoving him forward in Connor’s direction, and once he started he couldn’t make himself stop until he had his hands on Connor’s shoulders, his face. 

He’d never seen an android on fire before tonight, and while Connor hadn’t been ablaze, himself, he was hot to the touch. He’d lost his jacket and his shirt and pants were terribly burned, so much so they may as well have been gone, and his skin— 

It was patchy, a mix of his projected skin, his bright android chassis, and charred black plastic that thankfully didn’t look like it went deep but made Hank’s stomach churn. God, did it hurt? Could Connor feel it? Was he— 

“Hank,” Connor said, placing his hot hands over Hank’s that still cupped his cheeks. His left hand seemed fine other than sooty and missing the skin, but his right was just as dark as the majority of his right side. He must have been near the blast. 

His touch was soothing. It almost burned. But Hank would bear the heat so long as he had Connor here, solid and alive in front of him.

“Are you...?” he croaked, as if he’d been the one inside breathing smoke and ash. Close as he’d been it wouldn’t surprise him if he did anyway. 

“I’ll be fine,” Connor soothed, though his eyes were wide in a way that Hank could see the traces of fear there. Could feel the slightest tremors from his hold on him. Connor tried for a shaky smile. “Nothing a trip to the repair center won’t fix.” 

Hank sighed, wobbly and exhausted, and he pulled his hands back long enough to take off his coat and throw it over Connor’s shoulders, quickly followed by his arms. He knew Connor wasn’t one for modesty, but he hoped this would be comforting if nothing else. 

A soft exhale to his neck, followed by Connor’s heated forehead resting on his shoulder reassured him. Connor’s hands reached up and gripped the front of his shirt, and he could feel the warmth of him through his clothes.

“Thank you,” he breathed; Hank gripped him tighter.


	15. Jazz

Hank could see the soft candle light from the living room window outside. He bent to unhook the leash from Sumo’s collar as they stepped onto the front porch, lips pursed in thought. He should have known Connor was up to something when he declined to going on a walk with them.

Hank barely had his hand on the doorknob when the music started. He paused, and Sumo panted next to him, nudged his knee. But he wanted to stop a moment and hear what Connor chose. 

It was easy to pick out just from the beginning notes. Some good ol’ Etta James, At Last, on... a saxophone. Hank couldn’t hear any other instruments, and figured Connor had found some instrumental video online to play. He cracked a smile and finally opened the door. 

It was a cozy-hued dream in his living room, dim and warm in the glow of candlelight sparingly set on various surfaces. As if trained for this moment, Sumo trotted to the kitchen to his food and water. But Hank had eyes for someone else as he pressed the door closed with his back.

Standing in front of the TV was Connor, dressed to impress in dark slacks and a smooth, soft blue button up. As Hank shut the door Connor looked up and met his eyes, and his own eyes held the bright smile that his mouth currently could not. 

Because this sappy, hopelessly romantic and lovable little sneak was playing the song himself.

Hank felt his face heat up, prickling with an incalculable amount of affection and awe that this ridiculous android would do something like this at all, let alone for him. 

And as Connor continued to play Hank walked slowly to the couch, propping his hands on the back to stand and watch, to listen. 

As the song came to a regrettable end, Connor made his own slow way to the front of the couch until he was stopped in front of it, the last notes following the careful movements of his fingers. 

Hank didn’t waste time as Connor pulled the mouthpiece from his lips, moving to grip the front of his shirt and bringing him close to meet halfway over the couch for a kiss.

And Connor had to ruin it with a giddy laugh. So much for his romantic side—he was lucky he was cute. 

“Seems it was worth taking those lessons,” he said, backing up just enough so Hank could see his grin.

“You—you took lessons?” Hank asked, shocked. He felt bad for assuming Connor had just found some way to download a “Jazz for Dummies” patch or something. 

“Of course.” He pecked the tip of Hank’s nose. “Only the best and most authentic for you.”

“God you’re cheesy and I love you,” Hank sighed, and tugged Connor close again. 

“Feel free to prove it to me. Multiple times if necessary,” he teased, and let go of his saxophone with one hand to snag his own fistful of Hank’s shirt to reel him in.


	16. RK900 (Hank1700)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Special thanks to Blue and Brin for offering suggestions when I was comin' up empty for this one, though I didn't do them justice. xD Also a showcase of my inability to describe outfits, but eh.
> 
> Another suggestive one but other than some ass groping nothing happens.

"I don't think this is going to be considered "sexy" by the general population Connor, let alone Hank."

"No?" Connor asked, tilting his head to the side in thought as he looked down at the projection on his palm. It was a mish-mash of his preconstruction software combined with some image searches edited together. He'd thought it had turned out well enough, and had even found all of the items required to purchase. He frowned, disappointed. "You don't think so?" 

"I don't," Nines confirmed, tone deadpan but with a trace of humor under the surface.

Connor huffed at his tease. "What about this idea?" he asked, and the image shifted. 

Nines looked over, mouth pursed. "I... suppose I don't object to that. Hank might not, either. He's quite the food officianado."

"Nines," Connor laughed, nudging his shoulder. "Just because he's human and _has_ to eat, it doesn't call for teasing. He's not even here to hear it." 

Nines hummed, tapping Connor's held aloft wrist. "So this?"

"I think so," Connor said happily. "I'm already ordering everything. Should be here with plenty of time before Halloween." 

The projected image in his hand faded away as he reached up to hold a finger to his lips. "Secret, though."

"Of course, what fun would it be otherwise." Connor smiled and leaned over to peck Nines' cheek. "I think you should be chocolate, by the way."

\- 

Due to the three of them being on duty for Halloween (it was never a bad idea to have extra hands on deck for it, plus it gave the officers with kids a chance to enjoy the holiday), Connor and Nines decided their plan would be better suited for the day before. 

They'd planned ahead and requested the time off in order to prepare, which left Hank with an early shift and then his night free, but confused as to what the two of them could possibly be planning. 

"Going trick-or-treating early I'd guess," Tina teased, walking towards the break-room with a wink in Hank's direction as he prepared to leave for the day.

"They're too—" Hank stopped himself, considering. He'd been about to say they were too old for that, but he supposed technically that wasn't true. "I doubt it," Hank hollered, and Tina rolled her eyes at him from the coffee maker.

"Use your imagination, Lieutenant!"

So he did, all the way home, still baffled. 

He still had nothing by the time he walked through the door and was greeted by a happy Sumo but no sneaky androids.

“You home, boys?” he called, ruffling Sumo’s ears as he hung up his jacket. The call of “in the bedroom, Hank!” led him in the right direction. 

He had to prop himself in the doorway and hold a hand to his mouth at the sight before him.

Connor and Nines were knelt on the bed, bodily facing each other but all eyes on Hank. They were dressed identically, from the small shorts stuffed with extra padding for their asses to the stockings and gloves that reached their mid thighs and wrists in what looked like an imitation of dripping paint. No, not paint... 

Hidden behind his hand, Hank bit his lip fiercely to stop from laughing at the ridiculous but adorable little plastic cherries on each of their heads, and from where he was standing it looked like most if not all of their freckles and moles were topped with rainbow sprinkles. 

They turned to face him more, and he noticed the little bralettes they both had, the cups looking like swirls of whipped cream.

Hank had to turn away—he was sure they had tried hard for this, with nothing but the best intentions, but Jesus. His gut hurt from trying not to laugh. 

He heard Connor call his name, followed by Nines muttering, “should have known,” sounding mildly embarrassed.

“No,” Hank wheezed, sucking in a deep breath as he turned back around. “I just—I wasn’t. Expecting _this_ when I got home. It caught me by surprise, that’s all.” 

“You don’t like it?” they asked in unison, with their respective equivalents of pouts.

“I am both in awe and confused by it if I’m being honest.”

Nines fidgeted, hands twitching where they were lightly held with Connor’s. “Connor wanted—"

“_We_ wanted,” Connor corrected, lifting Nines’ hands to his lips while still holding eye contact with Hank, “to be alluring for you.”

“Sexy,” Nines supplied further, the word sounding heavy and surrounded by air quotes. 

“And Neapolitan ice cream scoops was the unanimous decision, huh?” Hank teased. Connor pouted at him while Nines looked down. “You’re missing the vanilla, though,” he added thoughtfully.

“Oh, I ordered a matching outfit for you,” Connor said brightly. 

Hank snorted. “Of course you did.” He walked over to the bed, taking each of their chins in hand and turning them, as if inspecting. Connor met his gaze boldly and preened while Nines alternated between looking up and away. 

“Well...” he drawled, before leaning in and leaving a wet kiss along Nines’ neck. He gasped, arching to bare more of his throat.

Hank pulled away with a grin and a few sprinkles for his trouble. They WOULD use real ones. 

“I always did like having my strawberry in between my chocolate and vanilla. And you look delectable in pink, sweetheart.”

Nines eyes widened, and he glanced at Connor. “But—"

“I know I said it was a secret,” Connor started, sounding apologetic but not looking it at all. “The costumes were, but Hank and I may have planned for the night to be about treating you.”

“Happy six months,” Hank added, winking. He moved a hand downward and gripped Nines’ ass as much as he could with the padding. “I am more than ready to scoop you up.”


	17. Chicken Feed

Hank knew there was no way he was going to get one over on Connor. He knew exactly where they were going, and despite Hank stealing glances at him to see his reaction, or if he’d say anything, Connor kept his lips sealed. 

Besides, Connor had long since given up and respected Hank on his eating habits. He’d learned quick that reciting ingredients and health issues was a sure fire way to get Hank to consume _more_ out of spite.

“Child,” Connor would say with a laugh. Hank would stick his tongue out. 

So Hank pulled up outside of the Chicken Feed. It had been awhile anyway, he figured he deserved it. Shoot the shit with Gary a bit or something.

Connor followed, and very unlike the first time they’d been here together, Gary greeted him warmly and Connor returned his easy smile.

After Hank grabbed his food and drink he tipped his fingers in a cheery salute Gary’s way, following after Connor who had already gone to stand next to a table.

“Missed your regular haunt?” Connor teased, finally commenting on the location. 

Hank shrugged, burger already unwrapped and on its way to his mouth. “It’s good to indulge sometimes.”

He laughed around a mouthful of food as Connor rolled his eyes. 

“It’s nice to be back here,” he admitted, rolling his shoulders a little at Hank’s curious look. “We weren’t exactly on the best of terms the first time we came, but I still hold the memory close.”

Apparently Hank wasn’t the only one thinking back to the past. “Even though I called you goofy?” Hank asked.

“I have a hunch that was your way of hiding your true feelings.” Connor leaned on the table, weight settled on his forearms and elbows, turned to Hank with the biggest shit-eating grin on his face, and winked. The fucker. 

Hank got flashbacks to that chilly day in November last year, of Connor doing the same damn wink. Same damn head tilt and a little grin that, at the time, Hank had wondered if he’d even realized he was doing it, being a “machine” and all. It had seemed natural then, easy and light-hearted. But it was interesting to see the difference time had made to Connor’s mannerisms. He was _proud_ to see the growth in that time. He’d come so far, seen so much and done so many things. Connor was his own _person_ now. 

It hadn’t started here, but Hank was glad that this was where they ended up. And he was looking forward to where else they would go.


	18. Cuddles (Reverse AU)

Hank had a timer going in the corner of his vision. Every time Connor's head bobbed in an aborted droop toward dozing off, or he drank one more coffee that he may as well be injecting intravenously, Hank checked it, frowning. 

85:07:32.13

Lieutenant Stern had been running on no sleep for over three days. Roughly. He couldn't know for sure without having been there to monitor his sleep before this stupid "I'll sleep when I'm dead" bender had started. But his best guess from when Connor had come into work days ago seemed, unfortunately, pretty accurate.

Being stuck on this stakeout was probably both a blessing and a curse for him. It meant downtime, rest, with nothing much to do but sit and watch for their guy to make a move. But Hank could see the tense frustration building in his hunched shoulders, the exhaustion around his mouth and eyes.

"I _am_ an android," he felt the need to remind him. Connor gave him a dead eyed stare. "I can keep watch while you rest." 

"Nope." And with that Connor had turned back, propped his arms on the dash and leaned forward to stare out the windshield.

If Hank were prone to showing loud bursts of irritation, he would have groaned. 

It wasn’t much longer before their suspect showed up, foolishly dumping the evidence of his crimes in the same place he had been for the last two murders they could connect him to. Obviously he hadn’t been keeping tabs on the police activity in the area the last few days. 

“Dumbass,” Connor grunted as he climbed out of the car, and Hank followed suit.

As seemed to be the usual, calling out and asking a perp to stop and listen did not do the trick, and their criminal made a break for it. 

Knowing it wouldn't do any good, Hank didn’t bother telling Connor to wait behind as the lieutenant cussed up a storm behind him.

He wasn’t very athletic, so it was only a matter of time before the murderer staggered around a corner into an alley and about biffed it on a dumpster. Hank had already called in their backup and a cruiser was on its way from a couple streets down.

As Hank finished cuffing the idiot he could hear Connor’s wheezing coming from the street, and turned just in time to see him slap a hand to the wall to help him turn the corner. He went careening into the brick on the other side and slid down the wall.

“Oh,” he panted, waving Hank off as he started to stand, “you got ‘im. I’ll just.” He turned and pushed back against the wall, using it to help himself stand up. “Wait down here, flag down Chris.” 

Connor could at least _breathe_ by the time Chris and his partner arrived, though he still kept the wall near and dear for support. As Hank and the other officer checked their perp for anything else dangerous (he did find a knife, and promptly took it), Chris kept Connor occupied. 

"You remember the clapper?" Hank heard Connor ask. As soon as they were done here Hank was dragging the stubborn fool to his home—he sounded like he was going to pass out any second. Near delirious. "It was kinda before our time, ish. Or we were real little." 

Hank could practically hear the slow blink Chris gave in the short stint of silence that followed. "We didn't have one, but yeah, I remember. Weird fad. Why?" Chris asked.

Two short claps followed. 

Hank finally looked up from the evidence he held to see Chris and Connor side by side, Chris with a tablet in hand and Connor with his hands pressed together. "Out like a light," he said, voice faint, before he started listing to the side and his eyes rolled back in his head. 

"Whoa, Lieutenant—!" Chris pressed his occupied hand to Connor's chest and the other to his shoulder, and almost leaped out of his skin when suddenly Hank was by his side.

“I’ve got him,” he said, replacing Chris’ hold. 

Connor was dead weight against him as he shifted his body until he could get a grip on him, hauling him up in his arms. “Can you two finish up here? I’ll file the reports on the way, but I need to get him home.”

“Yeah, of course.” He patted Hank’s shoulder. “Keep me posted?” 

“Got it.”

-

Sumo greeted them at the door as Hank shouldered his way into Connor's house, bee-lining for the bedroom to deposit the still out cold man on his bed. His heart rate and breathing seemed fine, but he carefully pried open one of his eyes to check further. 

Connor jerked, swatting weakly at his hand before rolling over and letting out a soft snore.

Hank rolled his eyes, sharing a look with Sumo who'd followed them in, before slowly peeling off Connor's jacket. 

"How about I take you out, boy?" Hank asked quietly, motioning for Sumo to follow him to the back door. It was a quick trip, Sumo eager to get back inside, and then he immediately headed back to the bedroom. 

Hank stopped in the doorway and didn't bother to hide the fond smile on his face; the big sweetheart of a dog had hopped up on the bed, snug against Connor's side after the man had rolled again and smooshed himself against him. 

He gave Sumo a little wink and a wave before turning to leave, but the dog whined and wuffed pitifully as he did.

"Sumo, you need to be quiet. Connor needs sleep," Hank whispered, placing a finger to his lips. 

His next attempt to leave resulted in the same, however, with a louder whine. His LED spun yellow.

"Sumo—" Hank started, but before he could say more Connor let out a mighty whine of his own.

"Shumooo, shush," Connor slurred, half into his pillow and half into the dog's fur. He blindly patted at his hairy back to console him. "Sleepy," he grumbled.

Sumo snuffled at his hair, but Connor must have gone to sleep again because he didn't stir.

Hank took one more shot at slipping out, but knew he was doomed when Sumo cried again. 

He sighed, stepping into the room and toeing off his shoes. "Fine, you lovable beast," he said softly, seating himself gingerly on the bed to Connor's back. Clearly satisfied, Sumo finally settled down himself. 

Hank's lips pressed into a thin line, unsure what to do with himself at this point. Connor was sleeping—he'd done his part. And he'd already sent off what he could for their case, as well as letting the captain know they would be out for the rest of the night. 

His hands twitched, and in a moment of self-indulgence he let one of them move to Sumo's back, petting down his fur. Sumo sighed, soothed as much as Hank was by the action. 

He may have let his hand stray to Connor, stroking through his hair and letting his nails scrape the slightest bit. Connor hummed in his sleep, tilting his head into the touch while burrowing deeper against Sumo's side. 

Hank had already been very close to him, not having much room on the edge of the bed, but what little space there'd been between them diminished when Connor arched his back, pressing against Hank's hip and leg. One of Connor's legs stretched back and made some kind of attempt to wrap around his own, too; he got his foot wrapped partly on his lower shin, at least.

"Guess I'm staying," Hank whispered, not sounding the least bit put out by this news.


	19. LED

In the quiet moments of the night when Hank found sleep elusive, woken by dreams or who knew what, he took comfort in watching Connor rest.

Or, rest in whatever way he could, not being human and all. 

Connor called it sleeping when he spoke with Hank, but in conversation with other androids it was always “stasis.” As if he just said it for Hank’s benefit—he probably did, not that he needed to.

And it was rare, catching Connor in those moments. 

He always waited until Hank drifted off first, and woke early. So unless Hank had a desperate need to get up or use the bathroom, he made sure to lie as still as possible and just... take him in. 

His mouth was closed in a neutral expression (which Hank found funny—it wasn’t often Connor’s lips weren’t parted), lashes looking delicate as they reached for his cheeks. He was serene. Peaceful and still in a way he simply couldn’t be while awake, always go-go-go with this one. 

Sometimes the stillness was a little too much, though. Connor didn’t breathe in stasis. He’d warned Hank that the process was halted when he wasn’t active (phrased a little more delicately—Hank really needed to set him straight that none of that bothered him). Even knowing it hadn’t kept him from being startled that first night he’d woken to find Connor dead still, shaking him awake. 

Now he had his tells, though. If he paused and held his breath, he could hear the faint hum of Connor’s body working even in sleep. A gentler touch to his hand, his cheek, and he’d feel Connor’s warmth. But the easiest tell was his LED. 

Much like Connor, it seemed to be in a near constant state of motion. Spinning in bright blues and contemplative yellows (and stressed reds, thankfully not often), Hank couldn’t say he didn’t keep an eye on it. Connor was still fairly closed off—sue him if he cheated a little. And at night, especially after waking from a stressful dream, it was his tiny, glowing security blanket. That little ring, dimmer in stasis but still alight and _alive_, let him know Connor was still there. A hypnotizing twirl to help him back to sleep. 

Tonight, Hank took a deep breath, slowing his heart rate best he could while he watched that little blue light slowly go round and round. And it worked, as always.

Connor was on his side facing Hank, close but with a bit of space between them since the night was warm. One hand was placed on the sheets between them, resting on top of Hank’s and lightly gripping his fingers. Even in sleep Connor was there for him. Stable and at peace. 

Hank couldn’t stop the selfish urge to reach out and lightly brush a finger along his LED, following the circle and the light of its rotation. Another soothing motion, but one that had the potential to wake Connor up. Which of course it did. 

“Hank?” he asked, voice slow to pick up as it tended to be when he first woke. His eyes blinked and focused on Hank’s, trailing along his arm that was stretched toward him. “What is it?” he said quietly. 

“Nothing,” he whispered, seeing yellow under his fingertips. “Just can’t keep my hands off you, is all.”

Connor quirked a brow at him, equal parts amused and disbelieving. “You’re okay?” he insisted, scooting closer. Hank moved his hand to the back of Connor’s head. 

“Yeah, thanks to you.” He smiled, placing a kiss to his forehead before he pulled him into his arms.

Shoulders shaking with a laugh, Connor returned the kiss to Hank’s collar bone. “I haven’t done anything yet.” 

Hank could feel his lips move against his skin.

“You’ve done way more than you think, sweetheart.”


	20. Belly

Hank was lounging lengthwise on the couch, one hand holding a book and the other dangling off the edge to pet Sumo’s head where he lay on the floor, when Connor came home. 

He’d gone at Markus’ request, to shoot ideas off each other for something pertaining to android employment, and about an hour later he’d texted Hank to say he’d likely be back late. Another twenty minutes: “Apparently the mayor wanted to conference call with the both of us here.” 

“Yikes,” Hank texted back, “you’re nicer than I am, I woulda said hell no.”

“It’s already been less than productive. I’m sorely tempted to walk out.”

Wow, Connor had more patience than Hank could shake a stick at, so if he was already on edge then it must be bad. 

He didn’t get home until nearly two hours after that. Hank had his back to the door, but he tipped backward as much as he could to see Connor as he came in. “Hey babe. How’d it go?”

Clearly not well, if the way Connor slouched against the door was any indication. 

“Remind me to refuse conference calls in the future,” he said tightly, his LED flickering with spats of red amid yellow.

Hank hummed, lips pursed as he set his book aside. He patted his thigh, and Connor met his eyes. “C’mere,” Hank beckoned. Connor didn’t need more convincing. 

Hank had expected Connor to sit in his lap, with his back pressed to his front. Instead, Connor moved to stand at the other end of the couch and crawled over the arm, nearly plopping face-first into Hank’s belly while the rest of him stretched out along what was left of the sofa. His knees hit the arm, so his shins were propped against it and his feet dangled up in the air.

He sighed loudly, shoulders sagging in relief and relaxation, and his breath warmed Hank’s stomach through the fabric of his shirt. Connor turned his face so his ear was pressed to Hank’s gut. “Just what I needed.”

Hank chuckled, trying not to laugh too hard so Connor wasn’t jostled. “I was thinking you could come up _here_ and I could hold you, but...” Hank settled his arms around Connor’s shoulders, one hand reaching to pet his hair.

Connor let out a rumbling sound of contentment at the touch. “I like to hear you,” he mumbled, tilting his head just enough to kiss his belly. “All the sounds your insides make are soothing.” 

“You’re lucky you’re cute, because that’s vaguely creepy,” Hank teased, tugging playfully at a curl of hair. “You doin’ okay though? Seriously.”

“Mm-hm.” He snuggled closer, arms wrapping around Hank’s waist. “Somehow you know just what I need.”


	21. Rings

Since starting a relationship with Connor, Hank had found himself becoming much more tactile. He couldn't keep his hands off of him, especially when they were alone. 

It was always an experience with Connor: feeling the give or resistance of his wonderfully inhuman body, tracing patterns on him via his moles and freckles or the lines of his exposed chassis, finding unique places that made him twitch and sigh and light up. 

Connor invigorated Hank as much as the reverse was true. And he was very receptive to Hank's touches and attention. Eagerly encouraged them, in fact.

Hank's favorite places, however, were the warm rings of Connor's LED and the thrumming circle that surrounded his thirium pump regulator. 

His eyes would often drift up to Connor's temple to watch the lazy spin there, and his hand would make a slow journey down to gently cup or twirl a finger round the regulator's edge. Both signs of life, reminders of not only what Connor was but how far he'd come from where he started. Hank would never admit how close to tears the thought brought him sometimes, the immense feeling of pride at seeing the distance Connor had traveled. He had a feeling Connor knew, anyway. Hank could see it reflected back at him in his eyes, accepted and returned. 

"I have a little game for you tonight," Connor said, hair and eyes still wild after their late night romp. He was a little fidgety, more-so than usual and especially so for after sex, so Hank quirked a brow at him.

"Didn't we just get done playing?" he teased, kissing his cheek. 

A soft breath huffed from Connor's nose, a laugh and a scoff. "Hank. Seriously."

"I thought games were supposed to be fun, not serious!" Hank winked at him, but leaned back and propped himself on his elbows before shifting to his knees, still settled between Connor's legs. He ran his hands up from Connor's ankles to his bent knees, lightly jostling them. "Alright, honey. What's the game?"

"Eyes closed first." One of Connor's hands reached up, covering Hank's own right hand and keeping it in place. His LED spun yellow, and it drew Hank's eye right away. Connor smiled. "And once they are," he continued, rubbing his thumb along Hank's, "find your favorite places on me."

Hank chuckled, tilting his head to the side in a fond "really?" kind of way. "Not much of a challenge, unless this is you testing me for what those places are." 

"Nope. Just a simple game." His still yellow LED and the added tapping of his fingers on the back of Hank's hand suggested otherwise. They suddenly stopped, however, as if he'd just noticed. "Humor me?"

"Always happy to." But Hank bent forward first to sneak a kiss. 

"Do _you_ know what my favorite places are?" Hank asked, eyes now shut as his left hand tickled it's way up Connor's right side. His thigh and stomach twitched under his touch, and Hank grinned.

"I have an idea."

"Mm-hm. Well first," Hank said, leaning forward a little to reach. "I love every inch of you." He put forth as much feeling and sincerity as he could. He knew Connor knew this, but he would never shy from reminding him. He let his middle and index fingers gently trace Connor's lips, and received a small peck for his efforts, before they moved on.

"But I do rather like having an idea what you're thinking," Hank went on, bracing himself on Connor's knee for balance as he finally reached his goal. The slightly different texture of the LED under his fingers was like finding a beacon in the dark. "Shows me you're here, too." 

He ran his fingernail along it as Connor hummed, a quiet sigh escaping him. His hand was warm where it still held Hank's to his knee. "I'll always be here for you," he said quietly, his own insistence obvious even when Hank couldn't see his face.

"I know," he said warmly, happy. 

Hank began to let his hand trail back down, a finger following the curve of Connor's jaw, along his throat and collarbone. He couldn't help himself, and had to stop and tweak Connor's nipple when he reached his chest. He snickered when Connor yelped and smacked his arm.

"Hank!" 

"I'm incorrigible, I know."

He could feel Connor shaking with suppressed laughs. "Keep going, you animal."

"Mm-hm, mm-hm. Well, after being able to get an idea of your beautiful mind..." 

He "ah-ha'd" quietly when he hit the mark, letting his fingers teasingly tap their way to the center of Connor's torso until he felt the edge of the indented ring there. He made his way around the edge, delighting in the heat and vibrations there. Alive, vibrant, and all his. 

"It's... comforting, I guess. To feel your version of a heartbeat." He pursed his lips, eyes narrowing even while closed. "Honestly, I... I'll probably ruin the mood with this, but, after Stratford Tower, how close that was. It makes me appreciate this little guy even more." 

Connor tightened his grip on him, and Hank flipped his hand, no longer needing it to keep himself upright, to clench their fingers together. Hank released a shaky sigh. "S'probably why I like these little rings of yours so much. They're you, a comfort and a reassurance. I—"

Hank paused, lips parted on a breath he couldn't inhale. He'd moved his hand to place it over the entire circle of Connor's pump regulator, a common action of his, to feel it hum beneath his palm.

He opened his eyes. He felt it, powerful as ever and picking up much like his own heartbeat. 

But it wasn't the only thing beneath his hand.

Connor met his eyes, his own breathing stopped as he watched Hank with a nervous excitement, and his LED spun so ferociously it looked like it would roll off his temple. His eyes shined, watery but so full of emotion. 

Hank would drown in the love there without the buoy his hand held.

"I think you may have missed a ring," Connor whispered.

Hank swallowed, feeling silly for how frozen he was but unable to move any faster. Connor's free hand came to hold his wrist in a light grip, to help. 

Hiding under his hand and in the center of Connor's thirium pump regulator was a ring. A sleek little thing, with a dim band of yellow around the middle that seemed blinding in the darkness of their room. Hank touched it with the tip of his finger, as if afraid it would bite him. 

A blip of blue darted through the yellow, and Hank's eyes snapped up to see it echo in Connor's LED. And to catch his equally bright smile. He could feel a wobbly grin of his own spreading on his face in answer.

"Mind helping me find a safe place for this one?" Hank choked. 

Connor sat up, grabbing the ring and Hank's hand so fast Hank almost toppled over backwards. They could only laugh, unable to speak.

Connor slipped the ring home on his finger, and Hank pulled him closer by the back of the neck to kiss and share the joy spilling from his lips.


	22. Lap

Hank sighed, pausing in the middle of the sidewalk to stare off to the side. It took Connor a second before he stopped too, calling to Sumo to wait so he wouldn’t pull too hard on the leash. “Hank?” 

“‘M okay,” he said, motioning for Connor to follow him as he stepped off the path and into the small park next to them. 

They’d chosen a different route today, one that had more trees so they could admire all the fall colors. It was beautiful. A nice winding path near the water with a lot of little parks and places to stop and admire the scenery. 

Hank scuffed the small rocks underfoot with the toe of his shoe as he walked up to the swing-set. “Cole loved the swings,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck. He felt the prickle of good but painful memories there, and tried to smooth them away. 

Connor’s hand on his elbow did more for that than he could. “We used to spider swing all the time. He loved to lean back and lay on my legs.” Hank chuckled, grabbing one of the swings by the chain and shaking it a little. “Miss that.” 

“Spider swing?” Connor asked, head tilted to the side. Hank peeked at him and grinned, seeing his bemused look and spinning LED.

“Yeah.” Hank motioned with his hands, making a V with his index and middle fingers on each and then slotting them one over the other. “One person sits in the swing normal, and the other sits on it backwards in their lap with their legs hanging behind.”

“But that’s only four legs...”

“It’s a name kids probably gave it, Connor.” Hank nudged his shoulder with a smirk. “I wouldn’t worry about the accuracy.” 

Connor hummed next to him, moving to loosely tie Sumo’s leash to the bar of the swing-set. As Hank watched, he settled himself in the same swing Hank had held a second ago, and patted his lap with a little grin.

“I learn better from first-hand experience,” he said brightly. 

Hank scrubbed a hand down his face, smothering a laugh. “Usually it’s the bigger person on the bottom,” Hank said with a snort, walking up to stand in front of Connor and grip the chains of the swing. He towered over him this way, and Connor just beamed up at him. 

“Maybe. But,” Connor shrugged, smiling, “when have you ever known me to go by the traditional?”

“Rarely.” Hank finally laughed. Mouth quirked to the side, he debated how to go about this before carefully lifting a leg to fit between the chain and Connor’s side, keeping his balance with his grip on the chains. The cool metal bit into his palms. 

Connor’s hands went to his hips. “Need some help?”

“From your wandering hands? Might be more hindrance than help.”

“How rude.” But Connor still smiled bright as the sun as Hank hoisted himself up and onto the swing, and thus Connor’s lap. 

He let out a shaky sigh as he settled, feeling a little off kilter. “Well now that you have me here—“

A sharp “whoa!” snuck out as Connor pumped his legs, kicking off the ground and setting them in motion. Sumo barked next to them at Hank’s shout, and Connor laughed. 

“Lean back once we get going a little more!” His smile was absolutely contagious, but Hank shook his head.

“I dunno boss, you’ve got long legs but I’m a lot bigger and heavier than a kid...” 

“Hank, indulge me.” He darted forward to press a quick kiss to Hank’s lips, and nudged his nose gently against Hank’s. “I can handle you.”

“Oh, I bet,” Hank huffed. He glanced over his shoulder briefly before giving in, leaning back but still maintaining his grip on the chains. 

He breathed out, meeting Connor’s shining eyes before looking up at the sky.

Feels like flying, Cole used to say. 

With the breeze from their swinging in his hair, how light he felt but still grounded with Connor’s weight beneath him and his grip on Hank’s sides... Hank could feel it, too.


	23. Spooky (Marking, Vampire AU)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Warnings for this chapter include biting, blood sucking... y'know, typical fare for vamps.

At the feel of feather-light touches to his hair, Hank closed his eyes and took in a quick breath. He tensed, both in excited and worried anticipation, at the cold press of lips to his neck. 

He couldn't be sure, of course, since it was coming from behind, but his guess was confirmed at the sound of shoes tapping in a landing on the pavement. Fingers gliding down to his shoulder. Connor always had a flair for the dramatic, and they hadn't seen each other in weeks. 

He _would_ choose to fly down and surprise him on a dark street, rather than just, you know. Coming to Hank's house like a normal person. Not that Connor was normal in any sense of the word.

Not that he minded one bit. 

"What a coincidence, finding you here," he practically purred, pulling Hank back into the alley they stood outside of. "I was just on my way back to you."

"Sniffed me out, more like," Hank grunted, air pushed from his lungs as Connor pressed him into the wall. 

His heart was already beginning to race, and from the little he could see of Connor's eyes dilating in the dim light of the moon and street lamp, he could hear it too. Could feel it, and was drawn in like a moth to a flame.

"Guilty." He grinned, shameless. "I missed you." 

"Missed you, too," Hank said, rolling his eyes with a fond smile; Connor had already moved in to nuzzle his neck, unbuttoning his shirt and pulling the collar aside. "This couldn't have waited until we got home?" 

"God no." He tutted, tongue darting out to lick at the junction of Hank's neck and shoulder. "It's been far too long; all my marks are healed and gone."

"Guess you better get to it then, since you're so impatient." 

To emphasize his point, Hank's hands had wandered down to Connor's ass, and gripped him tightly. He pulled him closer, and Connor moaned into his neck. "Let everyone know exactly who has me by the throat." 

Connor's breath was hot against Hank's skin, mouth burning in his eagerness. He wasted no more time and sunk his fangs in. They both groaned. He didn't know when the last time was Connor fed, but he drank in earnest, a man starved.

He always said Hank was the best he'd ever had. 

Hank would never get tired of the feeling of a vampire bite. An unparalleled high that left him feeling alive rather than wrung out afterwards. He'd yet to come close to the feeling from anything else. Having it be Connor, well... that just made it even better. 

Connor was in his own euphoric state, his hold in Hank's hair going tight and then loose in little twitches. He settled himself against Hank's thigh, and he pulled Connor even closer. Hank felt the content rumble from his chest vibrating against his own. 

After far too short a time, Connor pulled away with a small gasp, licking up any traces that may have escaped the wounds left behind. Then he moved on to his next favorite activity of leaving a circle of hickies around his bite. A flower of bruises and blood, his own brand. 

Hank sagged back into the wall, humming and damn near sated. Connor's little ministrations always made him flush at the attention, but it comforted the vampire to do so. (Him too, if he were honest with himself.) And how could he refuse him? 

Still, it wouldn't be him if he didn't tease. "Just got back and now I'll be explaining these at work again tomorrow."

Connor huffed a breath from his nose, not stopping in his slow circle. His hand reached up and brushed hair back from Hank's temple. 

A soft, smug whisper of "good" touched his mind. He felt it more than heard it, and Hank chuckled. His hands gripped again at Connor's ass and he whined into Hank's shoulder.

"You almost done? I think it's my turn to welcome you back." 

With a parting kiss to the marks from his fangs, Connor pulled back and met Hank's eyes. They practically glowed in the dark alley, and his lips glistened in a smile.

"Take me home."


	24. White

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Warnings for this chapter include Connor bottling up his feelings and not really dealing with his guilt and emotions, but Hank is there to support him anyway.

The first time Hank saw Connor in his entirety, without his projected skin, he seemed to glow in the darkness of the bedroom. An ethereal white, distant, untouchable. Especially so when Connor turned, caught him staring dumb in the doorway, and immediately covered himself again.

His expression was difficult to pick apart: part fearful, part agitated, maybe? Whatever it was, it was clear Hank had not been meant to see. And so Connor brushed it off quickly as he finished dressing and practically fled the room. 

It left Hank feeling uneasy, but he didn’t push. Not yet, anyway.

It was even more difficult to not say anything once they started a relationship. Not that Connor owed him a damn thing. He could do as he pleased. Share as much as he wanted or keep his secrets. 

It just meant Hank biting his tongue at the hypocrisy when Connor would ask _him_ to be open with him, during rougher nights and dreary days. It was hard, but he tried, damn did he try, to be as honest with Connor as he could. If only to show him that he was welcome to do the same. 

Connor came to him with nothing, though.

He was all smiles and eager to please, but there was clearly a shadow of something there, a weight pulling him down and back from some form of progress that he couldn't make. Maybe that he wouldn't _let_ himself make. 

So, after months of trying to prod him gently in the right direction and getting nothing but dodges and push-back, Hank figured a more direct approach was in order. He wasn't really one for mincing words, anyway.

He sat Connor down on the couch, took his hand, and talked. 

The thing about trying to get Connor to feel more comfortable, by sharing himself to lead by example, is that Hank had gotten a _lot_ of practice in over the months. So now it was easy, to bare himself that way.

He talked about himself, as stupid as he felt doing so, to lead in. About what had brought him to this point, and how the journey had been hard but the more time went on the more he felt content about the destination, eager to see what would come next. How he'd grown, and healed, even though the scars still ached from time to time. 

And how part of that had been thanks to Connor himself. He wouldn't be where he is now, without Connor having been there to help or support him.

"You're stronger than you give yourself credit for, Hank," Connor countered. 

"Maybe. And maybe I would've ended up here anyway. But it would have taken a lot longer and been a lot harder if not for you." Hank took a breath and held it for a moment before a gusty release. "Which is why... why seeing you hold back like this hurts so much. You've helped me, and I want to help you too, but I can't if I don't know what's going on."

Connor looked away, his LED a meek yellow. 

"I can't and won't make you do anything, Con. But I see you hurting. And I'm here, in whatever way you need me to be."

It was a long and quiet moment between them. Connor still wouldn't meet his eyes, and he didn't say anything, body suspended in the silence of the room. 

But his hand, still held in Hank's now hot and sweaty grip, clung tighter.

"I know." His voice sounded hoarse. His chest moved, and it was only then that Hank noticed he'd not been breathing. "I don't think I'm ready to talk about it. But I know, Hank."

Hank could work with that. 

It was almost a week before they talked. Sooner than Hank was expecting, to be honest.

He happened upon Connor in the bedroom again, standing in front of the mirror. He didn't have his chassis bared this time, but aside from his underwear he was completely naked. 

Hank remembered back to that first time. Of Connor standing before the mirror, as if inspecting himself. Not in his usual preening way. Bare and exposed and vulnerable, but resigned.

Their eyes met in the reflection of the mirror, Connor's beckoning him closer. Hank went. 

He wrapped around him from behind, could see the fractures splintering from here, and wanted to help keep him in one piece. Connor's eyes closed as he shook on an inhale. 

Without preamble, because beating around the bush at this point wouldn't help, Hank whispered in his ear. "Talk to me, sweetheart."

Opening his eyes, Connor first looked to his own reflection before Hank's, and he turned in his arms to tuck his face in his shoulder. 

"One thing at a time," Hank said, hand cupping the base of Connor's skull. Warm and comforting.

Connor nodded, and then instead of the short hairs and skin of his neck, Hank was cradling something much more fragile in his palm. The sudden bright white of him stark in comparison. He held him tighter, and let his other hand glide down Connor's pale back until he reached the base of his spine, then slowly moved back up. Feeling each line and panel on the way, tracing over each and every seam he came across.

Connor shivered; Hank watched him in the mirror. 

"This is what I am," he said, quiet and muffled in Hank's chest. His hands came up and grabbed the back of Hank's shirt in a fierce hold, pulling him somehow closer still. "This is what I am, but after everything... I'm stuck." It came out more a question than a statement. 

He huffed, tense and frustrated, and Hank couldn't stop himself from smiling a little. He knew this shit was hard, but the pride he felt from Connor trying was vast.

"I can never do enough to earn this. After all I've done, no matter how much I want it, I won't deserve it." 

Hank waited a beat to see if he'd say any more, but after a moment he sighed, resting his cheek on Connor's temple. A start.

"I think... guilt might be something we never really get rid of," he said slowly, continuing his smooth strokes along Connor's back. It seemed to help. He just hoped his words could, too.

"It's a mess of pain, with some reprieves, and acceptance. Acceptance that it may have been what happened, but now we have to live with it. But also acceptance that good still comes our way, even if we think we don't deserve it. It's ours." 

_I certainly don't know what I did to deserve you, yet here you are_, Hank thinks, eyes stinging.

"And we can't take it for granted."

Connor turned his head, resting his cheek against Hank and looking out of the corner of his eye at the two of them in the mirror. 

"No matter what, this IS you. You're here, with further to go." He pressed his lips to cool plastic. Connor sighed. "There's nothing to earn... But on your way to discovering that, you're not stuck alone."

He rubbed Hank's back, giving his own comfort in return—and thanks. "I know."


	25. Hair (Stasis)

Hank groaned as he rolled over yet again, unable to find just the right spot or angle for his mess of limbs to get comfortable in. He’d tried in and out of the blankets, elbows and knees here and there—nothing. 

With all his tossing and turning, he was surprised Connor hadn’t stirred from stasis. He’d mentioned he’d skipped it the last few days, so maybe it was kind of like a human thing; he slept (stasised?) deeper to make up for it. Either way, Hank was glad he hadn’t disrupted him. 

Sighing a tad louder than he meant to, Hank rolled again until he was facing Connor, mouth pursed in frustration at his own restless mind. Watching Connor sleep at least helped him settle, if nothing else. 

Despite the fact that Connor didn’t move around in this state, he always tried to make himself as one with the pillow and covers as possible. It was adorable, and Hank smiled seeing half of Connor’s face smushed into his pillow. No way would he begrudge his partner his comforts. 

Eyes flicking upward, Hank did find one thing that perturbed him a little. Or, maybe not perturbed so much as it seemed wholly unfair. Connor’s hair never seemed to make a mess of itself even with his sheet burrowing. The only time it got tousled was when Hank gripped it in his own hands; even the wind seemed to have little effect on it.

Hank sat up slowly, trying not to shake the bed too much, as he sat back against the headboard. He popped his neck and rolled his shoulders before looking down at Connor again, still but cozy next to him.

He gently set his hand in Connor’s hair, at first intending to muss it a bit for his own selfish amusement, but once he settled in he just... raked his fingers through it. Pushing back and combing through starting from his forehead.

His LED flickered, perhaps sensing the touch, but otherwise Connor didn’t stir. Hank loosed a soft exhale, smiling at this calm image of Connor at a standstill. It really did soothe him every time he could catch Connor taking even a moment to relax. Hank could sit here for hours and be content with that. 

And he did. Or he tried to. It figured that this was the thing that made his eyes heavy, and as he continued petting through Connor’s hair he eventually drifted off to sleep. 

Which is how Connor came to the next morning: a warm hand resting on his head, strands of hair twirled round big, strong and safe fingers. He blinked, and slowly tilted his head upward.

Hank still sat against the headboard, mouth barely parted for his breaths to puff out. The sun was only just peeking in the blinds, but the slats of light across Hank’s body lit him handsomely. He looked peaceful, and Connor smiled as he reached a hand out to place on Hank’s thigh. 

Normally he’d get up right away, but he could spare some time to let Hank sleep a little longer.


	26. Connection (Reverse AU)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just a note that this is based on my own version/HCs of the reverse au, and includes talk of a prosthetic/missing limb.

"Hank," Connor started, standing in the kitchen entryway looking and sounding very put-upon. 

Hank turned his head to face him, continuing to pet Sumo but otherwise giving Connor his full attention. He looked like he bit into a lemon, arms crossed over his chest and foot tapping in his jittery state.

"What is it?" Hank asked, brow quirked. 

Face still pinched, Connor turned his eyes away and jutted his hip out. You're the one asking _me_ for something, Hank thought, bemused at the attitude. He figured it would be easier to just let him have his moment, though.

"My leg is acting up," he finally admitted. Ah. 

"What's going on?" he asked, giving Sumo a last parting pat before standing, motioning for Connor to take his place on the chair.

Connor did, hobbling his way over a little awkwardly—his right knee and ankle seemed to be locked up. 

"The joints aren't bending, I'm not sure what's going on. I couldn't find anything so it might be software related." He sighed, dropping down into the chair. "If it was just some wire knocked loose it'd be fine, I can fix that, but..." he gestured vaguely at his leg. 

Hank understood. And knew Connor would rather eat Sumo's dog food before going in and getting help from a technician like the stubborn fool he was.

He'd never asked Hank for help with his prosthetic before, though.

"Of course. What's the model number, I'll look up the manual." 

He was already accessing the manufacturer's website when he got a little caught up on Connor rolling his shorts up, tilting his head and peering at his thigh.

"Uh... LGX51?" He squinted, hiking his shorts up even higher. Hank pursed his lips and turned away for a moment. "Fuckin' don't have my contacts in—yeah it's a 51."

"Got it." Hank held a hand above Connor's knee, meeting his eyes before he touched to silently ask permission. Connor nodded, lifting his leg up a tad, and Hank cupped the underside of his knee. "Not that I don't trust your judgement, but I'm going to open the nerve panel and check just in case," Hank said, popping the panel open and peeking inside. "That's cited as a common cause for this issue."

"Fair enough, never hurts to double check. Just... y'know, careful?" 

"Of course. Nerves and all," and Hank smiled up at him reassuringly before getting back to it.

Everything seemed in place, and pressing the manual test switch didn't change Connor's ability to feel but not use his leg, so his guess at it being a software issue seemed reasonable. 

"I've never..." Hank paused, then simply let the skin of his hand fade away to state his point.

Connor shrugged, not nearly so uneasy now that they'd been at this for a few minutes. "It's basically an android leg, yeah? That's why I figured you might be able to do... something." 

"Maybe. I'd imagine interfacing with it would be enough like plugging it in to a tech dock." Before Hank could touch it again Connor placed his hand over his.

"D'you... uh, need to pop it off or anything first?"

It was hard to tell if Connor would prefer that or not. Hank shook his head. "It would be easier to see what the problem is if it's connected."

Connor nodded, mumbled a quiet "makes sense" before moving his hand away, clasping them both together in his lap to keep from fidgeting.

Hank patted his knee comfortingly before diving in. 

Really it was a simple fix—a new update had come out and mucked something up, so Hank just reverted it back to the previous version until a fix came through. He filled out a bug report just in case; he had no idea how widely used this model was. It all took seconds. 

Within those seconds, however, he felt Connor tense up. At the end of it and just as Hank was ready to pull away, Connor's leg jerked so violently forward his heel struck Hank right in the sternum, just above his thirium pump regulator. His kick was a lot stronger than Hank would have expected. He grunted, throwing his hands out to grip the edge of the table and Connor's (now bent and functioning) knee to steady himself. "Connor, what the fuck—"

"I'm sorry!" He waved his hands to placate, truly apologetic. "I don't know what happened, when you hooked up to whatever in there it only took a second to feel things working again and then all of a sudden it was like..." He made a distressed noise, unsure how to explain. "I felt my leg but I felt... more, too? Does that make sense?" 

No, Hank thought, not really, but he didn't say anything. Just looked at his hand resting on Connor's knee thoughtfully before retracting his skin again. "Don't kick me this time," Hank said, half teasing.

Connor huffed, hooking his ankle around his opposite heel but was otherwise still. 

Hank braced himself when he felt Connor twitch, but no kick followed, thankfully.

"Can you describe it to me?" Hank asked, voice gone soft as he tried to figure out how it felt on his own side.

"It's... weird." Hank snorted, and Connor smacked his shoulder. "Not in a bad way, just different. Like something is plucking the fake nerves and it's traveling through to the real ones. Right now it's kinda like... a tickle, I guess? But before—"

Hank dipped a little deeper, not digging for anything in particular code-wise, but... 

Connor gasped, hands flying forward to grip Hank's shoulders. His arms went ramrod straight, and Hank looked up to see Connor's eyes clenched shut and lips parted. Like he was barely holding himself up, scarcely holding himself _together_. Hank couldn't feel anything, just the connection itself, since Connor couldn't send anything back. But that clearly wasn't the case for Connor.

"You okay?" Hank asked, pulling back just a little but not breaking away. 

Connor nodded, shuddering a little. "It makes things... very sensitive. Raw." He opened his eyes, and they were watery and tired but also bright, like he'd been hit with a second wind and was ready to go. "I... whoa."

Hank chuckled, pulling his hand away. 

Connor sagged in relief, but his eyes followed Hank's hand as his skin returned, flexing it once before resting on Connor's knee again. Connor circled Hank's knuckles with one of his fingers.

"Interesting it made you more _sensitive_..." Hank mused, fingers tapping thoughtfully. 

Brow raising, Connor poked the back of his hand. "Interesting?"

"Mm-hm. Sounds like something I should look into." He looked up, a devilish smirk curling his mouth. Connor swallowed.

"A little more testing would surely sate my curiosity."


	27. Flowers

Hank had a dream one night, that left more of a feeling, an impression, than a memory with specific details. But he remembered color, vibrant and flourishing, the scent of earth and pollen and the warmth of sunshine. And Connor, a beacon in the center. 

It took some time to do the research and get them both time off for the plan that had slowly formed, and he was proud of himself for keeping it a secret from Connor while he did. 

He grinned as he gripped Connor's hands in his, watching his eyes light up as they walked into the conservatory. It was a colder weekend after a warm week, so most people seemed to be hiding at home today. It meant little traffic and the majority of the place to themselves. It made for a nice day where they could hold their coats over their arms in the temperature regulated inside, with Connor practically bouncing from foot to foot as they made their way from one climate zone to another.

"This was a perfect idea for this weekend, Hank." 

He had the toothiest smile Hank had probably ever seen on his face, and it was more than infectious.

"Figured we could get outta town for a bit, go somewhere nice for the day. And, well... I've had the idea of taking you to the gardens for a while now."

"Oh, really?" 

Hank hummed, gently tugging him along to the next room. He had something in particular he wanted to show Connor, and he was eager but tried to be subtle about it. It was more fun as a surprise, after all. 

Connor picked up on his energy anyway, secrets or not, and laughed at his insistent nudging as they walked through everything else on the way to the final destination.

"Can I have a hint at least?" he asked, brushing a strand of hair from Hank's cheek and pressing a kiss there. 

"Well... the guys running this place wanted to collaborate with that nature conservation group at Jericho. Figured it would be a nice move, I'm sure, kinda as a publicity thing but also as a starting point..."

"Your cynicism aside, I do remember hearing about that." Connor nudged his shoulder a little, giving him a look for the negativity.

"Right-right. Well I knew it was opening to the public not so long ago, so I wanted to bring you to see it." 

As they approached the room, Hank turned Connor around so he'd back himself through the door. With a smirk, Connor jokingly started to turn his head slowly as they walked through the door.

Hank tutted at him, taking his chin in a soft but still firm grip. "Don't ruin the surprise, honey, that's no fun." 

The bright lights from above danced in Connor's eyes, and Hank was struck dumb for a moment. He was pretty sure he weaponized himself against Hank like that on purpose, the little shit.

Hank glanced over Connor's shoulder, and once they were a few feet away he stopped. 

Releasing his hold on him, Hank made a sweeping motion with his arm. "Ta-da."

It was a massive, wall-sized mural made of nothing but flowers, depicting a beautiful image of two hands joined together, one a tanned and peachy mix of petals, the other in varying shades of white. From one top corner down to the opposite side, the surrounding colors were a gradient of reds, oranges, all the way to soft lilac in the bottom corner. A rainbow of flowers, lilies and tulips and petunias, god knew what else that Hank had no names for. They'd outdone themselves. 

Connor had turned to look, and was still staring, so Hank shifted from one foot to the other as he explained, "They're all in little planters along the wall, so that they last for a while. Or, the season anyway, maybe. I dunno much about it." Hank rubbed the back of his neck. 

"Hank, it..." Connor's voice was strained, and before Hank could walk up to him and see what was wrong, Connor turned back to him.

If Hank was caught in Connor's eyes before, now he was being sucked in, enveloped in teary happiness and tiny crinkles at the corners from his smile. 

Hank remembered back to his dream, and suddenly realized that no matter what the image in his sleep had been, it couldn't compare to the real thing before him. The perfume of hundreds of flowers on the air, the sunlight through the glass ceiling lighting them up... 

And Connor, in the middle of a large image of color and hope and life, so much life, that seemed to radiate from Connor himself outward into the room and world. A beautiful center that Hank wanted to cradle close and nurture for as long as he had left. 

Because being here to see Connor thrive and grow into himself, shooting upward toward a sunny future just like the nature around him, was a wonder that he was so very grateful to be here for.


	28. Pumpkin

“You’re a whole-ass computer-man, and you couldn’t just bring up one of the dozens of pictures you probably have of my face to use as a reference, instead?” Hank teased, waggling his eyebrows while he leaned on the table. 

Connor scoffed, glancing up at Hank’s face briefly before turning his attention back to the pumpkin in front of him. “Don’t be ridiculous,” he said, biting his lip a moment before digging into the pumpkin with a fine blade for detail. “I have _thousands_ of pictures, not dozens.” 

Hank sputtered, and Connor gave him a cheeky grin before scolding him for moving. “Besides, having you model for me is more fun.”

“Uh-huh.” But Hank went back to making the scowling face Connor had requested, rolling his eyes for his own benefit. “You almost done, though?” 

“Why, worried your face will get stuck that way?”

“That’s an old wives tale and I’m pretty sure you can google that,” Hank said, pointing a finger at him severely. It coupled well with the scowl, he thought, convincing only himself. Connor’s laugh seemed to confirm it wasn't all he thought—damn it.

“I think I’m pretty much done,” Connor said, sounding pleased. “Just wanted to do some more details on the thinner parts since I took off a little more than I meant to.”

“Lemme see,” Hank said eagerly, making grabbing motions at Connor across the table.

“Just don’t laugh.” 

Connor spun the pumpkin via the towel it sat on, tapping his fingers on the untouched back of the big ol’ thing. It made a muted echo inside the hollowed out beast of a gourd. “I bought a little green light to put inside it. You think it’ll look okay?” he asked, sounding unsure. 

Hank grinned, already loving it and proud of Connor’s work. It was a neck-up view of Hank’s scowling face, his hair a wild mess (just like Connor had styled his actual hair to copy) via scraping the outer layer and nailing with fine lines for the strands. And around his head, little lightning bolts, the majority of which were sprouting from the bolts in his neck. A few smartly placed lines of stitches rounded out the look.

“Damn babe, I make a mean Frankenstein’s monster,” Hank whistled low, impressed. 

Connor beamed. “You do! I’m glad you like it.”

“I love it.” Hank tapped his chin thoughtfully. “Y’know though, this Hankenstein is gonna get pretty lonely out on the front step...”

Connor smirked, snorting quietly at Hank’s wordplay. “Oh will he?” 

“Yep. Think he needs a buddy out there. Maybe a...” He paused, thinking a moment as he stared intently at Connor’s face. “You drink blood; how about a vampire?” 

Now it was Connor’s turn to roll his eyes. But his smile was still in place. “I made yours, would you be willing to carve mine?” he asked, hopeful.

Hank stood over the table for a kiss, which Connor was all too glad to meet him for. “I’m no artist, but I’ll try.” 

“You could do one for Sumo, too!”

“Now you’re pushing it,” he chuckled.

He happily accepted Connor’s pumpkin-sticky fingers pulling him by the beard for another kiss, though.


	29. Date (Petnames)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is a continuation of day two, Thirium, which if you skipped or it's been too long [can be found here!](https://archiveofourown.org/works/21228263/chapters/50541971/)
> 
> Warnings for this chapter include mention of severe injury and those dreaded hospital lobby waits. 
> 
> (And as if I haven't been drowning these in pet names already, let's focus on it specifically this time!)

Hank hadn't meant to let it slip. If Connor asked when he woke up and didn't seem as receptive as his sleepy whispering had implied, he'll just say it was in the heat of the moment. Not entirely untrue.

Until then, he watched Chris skid over to them with an armful of thirium and finally, about damn time, the sound of sirens closing in. Getting more thirium into Connor would only do so much good when he was still more strainer than whole, but at least now he wouldn't run out. 

From there it was a whirlwind of making sure Chris was okay to meet up with his partner and figure things out with their asshat criminal back at the precinct while Hank rode along in the ambulance with Connor. He wasn't allowed to follow when they arrived, of course. 

So he stood awkwardly in a small lobby, because getting androids a better and more decently-sized repair center was still in the works, and fidgeted with his blue-stained hands and tried not to think about how close of a call that was. Focused instead on the fact that he'd called Connor _sweetheart_. Shit. He moved to run his hands down his face, then stopped. Right, blood on his hands. He closed his eyes and took a breath.

"There's a bathroom down the hall," one of the receptionists called to him. She smiled sympathetically, and her companion came around the desk and motioned for him to follow.

He definitely felt better after getting cleaned up some, and heaved a shaky breath. These close calls were gonna send HIM to an early grave at this rate, fuck. 

Considering the damage, Hank fully expected to be there for hours and hours, but it was only a couple before he was called back to see Connor.

He was propped up on a bed, a pouch of thirium in one hand while the other lifted a little to wave as Hank stepped into the room. 

"Just waiting for the filler to finish setting in the holes and getting my thirium levels back to an acceptable level, and then I'm good to leave," he said, smiling.

Hank sighed, practically collapsing in the chair next to the bed. "Can't believe how... uh, fast this all was." 

Connor shrugged uneasily. "Thankfully it was mostly tubing that was damaged and needed replacing. And the outer shell, of course. Otherwise nothing some good old soldering couldn't fix. Or a near equivalent of it." Connor tapped his chest, bared to the room since his shirt had been ruined and set aside, and Hank could see the raised areas on his chassis where something had been used to fill the entry wounds.

Hank sighed again, and placed his hand heavily on Connor's shoulder. He swallowed. "I'm glad you're okay," he managed to get out around the lump suddenly in his throat. Connor covered his hand with his own, and Hank looked up to meet his eyes. "I knew... I knew you'd pull through, you're too stubborn for that shit, but..." He sniffed, and his eyes stung. 

Connor watched him quietly for a moment, as if debating with himself about something. Finally, he said, "You called me sweetheart."

Hank coughed, and his hand twitched where it was still on Connor's shoulder as if to pull away, but Connor's grip suddenly tightened. Not hard, but not letting him get away so easily, either.

"Um." Hank blinked, speechless. What did he say to that? 'Yep, sure did. How about it?' Not likely. "Heat... heat of the moment?" he asked more than said, his pre-planned answer sounding weak in the light of Connor's stare. 

"I actually really liked the sound of it," Connor admitted, and now he looked away briefly, as if embarrassed by the admission. "It was... comforting, during. And I kept thinking about it, and I think I'd like it even more in a less dire context. But..." He turned back to Hank, bit his lip. "Why did you call me that, Hank?"

Hank wished he was feeling half as bold and articulate as Connor right now, because he was still floundering a little at having to answer honestly. He didn't want to mess anything up, but... 

He blinked, realizing he had nothing to lose—except Connor. And he'd already come too near to that possibility, again, for his liking. No way did he want to waste any more of the time he had with him.

"Because, you—you mean so much to me, Con. You're so dear to me, if I lost you..." 

Connor pursed his lips, and at first Hank thought that was his "how do I let this man down gently" face, but then he saw the wrinkles growing at the corners of his eyes, his lips twitching up. He was trying not to smile.

"You want to date me." It wasn't a question. 

His delivery was such a mix of awed and joyful that Hank sputtered, a shocked laugh bursting out of him. He manged to get his hand back finally, and used it to cover his face. It was a happy laugh though, and Connor could clearly tell, because he was smiling at him. 

"I mean, I. Yeah. I don't wanna waste any more of the time we have, so yeah. That wording caught me off guard for some reason but you aren't wrong. I wanna date you."

Hank heard the pouch of thirium hitting the bed as Connor dropped it, then felt his hands on his shoulders. He pulled him close and into a warm, trembling hug, and Connor let out his own soft laugh next to his cheek. Hank wrapped his arms around him in return. "I'm guessin' the feeling is mutual, or...?"

Connor's grip tightened, and now it was apparently his turn to be speechless. 

Hank smirked a little before murmuring, "I'll take that as a yes. Sweetheart."

Connor's breath hitched in his ear, a quiet but giddy little "oh" sneaking out of him, and Hank never wanted to let go.


	30. Book (Car), Explicit

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And explicit chapter number two! Warnings include my bare bones and horrible descriptions of blow jobs, sex in a moving vehicle (but it's an autonomous one so no unsafe driving), and some gagging/choking.

"Connor are you fuckin' kidding me, don't answer the—"

Connor had already tapped "Answer Call" on the car's dash, eyes shining with mirth, and Hank smothered a groan. This little bastard.

"Yeah?" he answered, in no mood for this.

"Hello, is this Lieutenant Hank Anderson with the Detroit Police Department?"

"Uh, yeah, it is. Who's asking?"

"Oh good, hello! My name is Alex Petrov, I got your number from Captain Fowler. I was wondering if you had a moment to speak with me about scheduling an interview?" There was a brief pause as some papers shuffled. "I'm writing a book about the DPD's Red Ice Task Force, and I was hoping to include a chapter in particular on your involvement. Since it's coming up on the fifteen year anniversary of the task force's founding I wanted—"  
  
Hank was only half listening as it was, but boy this kid could talk fast and seemed to go on and on. He was _not_ in the best position for this.

What Connor was thinking by answering the phone while he had Hank's dick in his mouth in a moving vehicle, he had no fuckin' clue. Thank god this was an autonomous car.

As Alex drove on about their book, so too did the car, and Connor, and Jesus Hank couldn't look at him while all this was going on. He suppressed a moan as Connor met his eyes, getting in a wink before Hank turned to look out the windshield. Cheeky brat.

"Lieutenant Anderson?" Oh shit, had Alex asked him something?

"Um, yep, sorry, I'm in the car right now. Bit. Bit distracted. Traffic and all."

"Oh gosh, I'm sorry. I'd been rambling anyway, but I just asked if you'd be interested at all in that interview?"  
  
"Well I'm not—" Hank nearly smashed his face into the steering wheel, glaring at the back of Connor's head as he gave a particularly harsh suck to his cock. He pulled back until only the head remained in his mouth, laving it with his tongue. Hank gripped his hair in warning.  
  
Hank tried again, "I'm not uh. Usually one for that kinda thing." He sat back up, and Connor had stopped moving to level him with a Look. Was he seriously giving him attitude about _not_ accepting an interview while he was blowing him? For fuck's sake.  
  
"Oh," Alex said, clearly dejected.

Connor continued to stare at him, and after a moment Hank finally rolled his eyes. "But I suppose it wouldn't hurt, sounds neat that you're writing a book about it. I'd be happy to."  
  
As Alex nearly shrieked "really?!" into the receiver, Connor did some insane maneuver with his tongue and the back of his throat that made Hank bite the meaty part of his palm to stop his shout. "Thank you so much Lieutenant Anderson, this is great! When would be best for you?"  
  
"I—" he squeaked, and cleared his throat to try again. "I'd have to check my schedule. Work, and stuff. Uh, I'll be home in about half an hour, can I text you at this number later?"

"Yes, please, that would be wonderful. Thank you so, so much!"  
  
"No problem," Hank said, and despite his current predicament he could honestly say he was feeling the secondhand excitement from this kid about it. "Is there anything more you'll need from me before—oh shit, hold on, speed bump—"  
  
The warning had really been for Connor's benefit more than Alex's, because Hank had barely noticed what with his eyes nearly crossing and all, but for some reason the car must not have auto-detected the bump in the road and was still heading right on through at way too fast of a speed. He didn't quite catch it fast enough though, because Connor had maybe pulled off an inch before they hit the speed bump, and his hips shot up toward Connor's chin.  
  
Hank could see the red of his LED in his periphery, and _definitely_ heard the gagging, _felt_ his dick go further than he probably ever had.  
  
Hank did his own impression of choking, and his hold of Connor's hair was so tight he wondered if Connor could feel pain _now_, because holy _shit_.

"Con," Hank hissed, and Connor pulled up and off with a harsh gasp. He had tears in his eyes, and Hank eased up on his grip of Connor's hair.  
  
"Lieutenant?! Are you okay?" Oh god, right, Alex was still on the phone.

"Yep!" Hank wheezed, hand already moving to press "End Call." "Smashed my head on the roof, damn small cars! I'll uh, I'll text you later Alex, thanks!" Before Alex could get anything else in, Hank hung up.  
  
"Fuck, are you okay?" Hank asked, resting his hand back on Connor's head and petting the hair from his forehead.

He was still propping himself up over Hank's lap, panting and teary-eyed. Hank caught a tear on its way down with his thumb.  
  
"Yes," Connor rasped, blinking rapidly. He sat up a little more, eyes wide as they trained on Hank. "I didn't realize I could... do that."

"What, choke on my dick? Yeah, hell of a way to learn."

Connor cleared his throat and worked his jaw a little. "I can't say I hated it."  
  
Hank barked a laugh. "Christ, why doesn't that surprise me."

Connor hummed, leaning forward for a kiss while one of his hands wandered to replace his mouth further down. Hank groaned against his lips.

"I'm glad you agreed to the interview," he mumbled, kissing along Hank's jaw.  
  
"Mm-hm." His hips bucked, and Hank let his hands wander to Connor's neck and shoulder. "Seemed like you were heavily encouraging it from down there."

Connor laughed, breath hot along Hank's neck as he nipped the skin there. "Made you rather agreeable, wouldn't you say?"  
  
"Pretty sure I'd sign up for most anything if you asked, Con."

"Good to know... does that mean we can explore my apparent gag reflex when we get home?"

Hank cursed and let his head slam back into the headrest.


	31. Halloween

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Happy Halloween, kiddos and critters! Other than poor Hank recovering from an injury, no warnings for this one!

Hank blinked his eyes open at the sound of Sumo hurrying across the floor and the front door opening, and if he strained his ears he could just hear Connor quietly shushing the dog and greeting him. 

He had no idea what time it was, but it was dark, and the timed string lights Hank had hung in the bedroom window gave the room a soft orange glow. He must have finally fallen asleep. Thank god, he'd been worn and aching all day but stuck in some insomniac limbo. 

A shriek and childish laughter drifted into the bedroom, and Hank groaned. Still kids running around trick-or-treating, it sounded like. Couldn't be too late, then.

A soft knock on the door frame had him turning over slowly, and Connor was peeking in at him. "Hey there," he said, voice soft. "How's the patient doing?"

"Peachy," Hank grunted, motioning Connor over. As he sat on the edge of the bed, Hank patted his thigh and let out a long-suffering sigh. "Be grateful you can't slip a disc, Con. It's the pits." 

Connor's face was thrown in shadow on this side, but Hank could imagine the indulgent smile there. "Last day of bed rest, at least. Then it's on to physical therapy."

"Oh joy."

Connor laughed, standing briefly so he could climb over and onto the bed, hips set over Hank's. Connor settled carefully on top of him, putting them chest to chest. His LED was a bright and pretty contrast to the orange of the room. 

His hands crept up along Hank's sides at a slow tickle before they landed on his cheeks, pulling his head up a bit to meet him for a kiss. Hank's hands went to his hips to hold him there, but something felt... off, about Connor's mouth. "Th' fuck," Hank mumbled, gently nudging Connor back so he could see his face. The orange light was not doing him any favors, but he could make out a darkness around Connor's mouth. And eyes... and nose? "What's on your face? Feels... funny." He wasn't sure how to describe it.

Connor chuckled, a deep and quiet thing that Hank could feel rattling his bones. It made him sink deeper into the bed, but he blinked up at Connor, awaiting his answer. 

"Face paint," he said, taking a finger and tracing it round Hank's lips. "I volunteered to hand out candy at the precinct, and they had a station set up. A group of kids hanging out there insisted I get my face done, too." He grinned, cheeks stretching. "I'm a jack-o'-lantern." 

Hank laughed, and it shook Connor atop of him enough that he had to take one hand and steady himself on the mattress. "Aw hell, does that mean I've got shit on my mouth now?" No wonder Connor was poking around there.

"Black lipstick looks rather good on you." 

"Oh please," Hank snorted. "I went through that phase already."

Connor pursed his lips, rolling them together and spreading the makeup a little more over his mouth again. Then he leaned forward, but instead of another kiss like Hank expected, he rubbed his cheek against Hank's. He let out an indignant "hey!" when Connor moved to give the other cheek the same treatment. "Damn it, it's gonna get all over the bed, you little shit!" Hank laughed. "Taking advantage of an invalid, how dare you."

"Lock me up and throw away the key, Lieutenant," he purred. 

Hank huffed, then groaned against Connor's mouth as he moved back for a deeper kiss this time, makeup squabble set aside. Hank could taste it along with Connor on his tongue, and it was an odd mix, but not altogether disagreeable.

"Seriously, taking advantage," he grumbled. "You know I can't do much right now, and here you are gettin' me all riled up..."

Connor gently pulled Hank's bottom lip between his teeth, eyes a teasing sparkle, but he let go and contented himself with nuzzling their noses together, instead. "Just spreading the Halloween spirit."

"Spreading a lot more than that..."

Connor smiled, toothy and relaxed, and in this light Hank decided he looked very nice with the spirit about him. 

"Happy Halloween, my love."

Hank returned his smile, "Happy Halloween, sweetheart," and tugged him back down to share that gleeful holiday cheer with his lips again.


End file.
